So Sudden and So Sweet
by queenofsarcasm-14
Summary: I've seen this coming of course, a moron could have predicted this conversation. She's just told me that she wants to have a baby. With me. 'No' is my automatic reaction, followed swiftly by blind panic and dread. But this is Callie.
1. Chapter 1

So Sudden and So Sweet

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners

* * *

'So you're saying no?'

'No. Not no. Just...'

'Not yes,' Callie finishes, smiling sadly.

'Not anything, Cal. I need time. This is...big, really big.'

'But you'll think about it?' Her whole face is lit up with hope and I feel sick about the thought of taking it away. I've seen this coming of course, a moron could have predicted this conversation. Last month I caught her looking at photographs of houses in the suburbs and pretended not to notice. She's started going to daycare at lunch to play with Grey and Shepherd's daughter. Our Tivo box is full of 'Babies: Special Delivery' and 'Secretly Pregnant'. All of which has brought us to tonight and the fact that she's just told me that she wants to have a baby. With me. 'No' is my automatic reaction, followed swiftly by blind panic and dread. But this is Callie.

'Yes, I'll think about it,' I reassure her.

As if I'll be able to think about anything else.

* * *

'How uh, how would you want to...you know,' I twirl my hands around each other in that universal gesture of trying to convey what you don't know how to talk about. We're on our way to work, waiting at the stoplight.

'We could use a donor,' she says tentatively. Delight at the subject of conversation flickers briefly over her face before she determinedly makes an effort to be casual. Usually a coherent sentence is a challenge for her at this time of the morning. Except when I want to talk about babies apparently.

'Not...Sloan?' I ask, voicing my worst fear.

'What?' Her head swivels towards mine in disbelief. 'No! What would make you think...' She tails off and I'm immensely relieved to see the distaste on her face. 'No. A thousand times no. Worst idea ever.'

'It just seems like the kind of thing he'd offer to do.' I know she's told him about this, she tells him everything.

She looks uncomfortable and my suspicions are confirmed.

'I told him no,' she says very firmly. 'Straight away. He was probably joking anyway.'

'Well. Good. Raising the spawn of Sloan would border on horror movie territory.'

It's a weak joke which doesn't make either of us laugh. When I see the fake smile pasted on her face I want to tell her not to bother, resentment would be less painful than seeing her force herself to be pleasant to me.

'I just want to be pregnant once in my life,' she tells me softly. 'I want to feel my baby kick and go to those stupid lamaze classes and eat crazy pregnant woman food. Can you understand that?' Her hand reaches over to grab mine and I hold on for dear life.

'Look,' I blurt out. 'That's all normal. You're normal. I know that. But no, I don't understand. I have never wanted to be pregnant. Can't you see why that worries-'

'But that's perfect!' She interrupts, notes of desperation slipping into her voice. 'You don't want to be pregnant, I do. So I'll do it. It's so simple.'

'Callie-' I try, unable to look at her.

'Is it the donor thing? You want to be biologically related to the baby? That's fine, we'll use your egg. I don't mind. Actually, I'd like that.'

'You...what?' My head is reeling from that twist in the road.

'Well, why not? It would be more equal. And I would love to know that I was carrying your baby. You can't get your head around that?'

Coward that I am, I go for the scientific flaw in that plan.

'Callie, you know how old I am. My eggs are...that window has passed.'

'We could go to Addison's practice. She could help us. Or her friend- Naomi. Addison says she's practically a miracle worker in getting people pregnant. We could try. It's hardly impossible, people your age get pregnant all the time. Webber's wife got pregnant and she's got at least ten years on you! You look after yourself, you're healthy, you're telling me they couldn't harvest one viable-'

'Callie,' I cut her off as gently as I can. 'That's not it. I don't have a problem being not related to the...'

'Baby? You can say the word, Erica,' she snaps and it's almost a relief. I can take her anger, I deserve it.

'Sorry,' she mutters and slumps in her seat. We've arrived at the hospital. It's not even light yet and the day's already ruined.

'_You_ don't need to be sorry.' I get out of the car, incapable of facing her anymore, and start walking to the employee entrance. I'll try and stay out of her way today, she probably won't be able to stand the sight of me. How _I'll _be able to look at myself in the mirror is beyond me.

'Erica!' She catches me up and her hand closes around my arm, pulling me back to her. I see the first tear fall to the ground and feel like crying myself. 'I'll do whatever you want, okay? Whatever makes you comfortable with this. You just have to say.'

'You don't need to do anything! It's me, this is my problem, not yours. I want to say yes, I do.'

'So say it.'

'I can't.'

'Don't say no,' she whispers. 'Please.'

'I can't say that to you either,' I tell her shakily and I step away again because I've done enough damage for one day. She needs to be away from me.

'Okay,' she says, and tries to collect herself, wiping her face with trembling hands. 'I won't bring this up, okay? You can, when you're ready. Take as much time as you need. Just don't ...don't say no, okay? Let me think that you'll change your mind.'

She walks away.

* * *

So we don't talk. Unfortunately this doesn't mean the subject is dropped, it just means that it's not spoken about out loud. It turns out you can say a lot with silence, awkward pauses and loaded looks. I start working more, almost obsessively- covering shifts, teaching skills labs until I'm practically living at the hospital. Webber eventually corners me in the lounge and tells me he's cutting me off.

'Hahn,' he says, 'If I see your face in the next twenty four hours I'm calling security. Go home.'

What kind of person's heart sinks when they're told to take a day off work? What kind of person is disappointed when they check the schedule and find out their partner's got the same day off as them? Callie's already asleep when I get in, having procrastinated doing paperwork for as long as humanly possible, or at least pretending to be. But now it's the next morning and the day stretches ahead with nowhere to hide.

I use the guest bathroom. Mine and Callie's bathroom has a ridiculously expensive shower that lights up like a seventies disco and has a hundred different settings. I love it. Somehow though I feel more comfortable using the bathroom that I make Yang use when she and Callie go on a tequila bender and she can't make it home. It's got a crappy shower that doesn't make me feel clean or awake or anything except pathetic that I'm creeping around my own home like a stranger. I wrap myself in a towel and check my watch. 8.37. God, how am I going to get through this day?

A knock on the door.

'Erica? Can I come in?'

'Uh yeah, sure,' I say, grabbing a comb to busy my hands. Look normal, look normal. Behave like a normal human being.

'Hey,' she says, opening the door. She's wearing my Hopkins Med t-shirt. I never really got why men love women wearing their shirts until I came home one night and she was sleeping in it. For a while she half-heartedly made noises about giving it back but now it's pretty much de-facto hers. Wyatt would probably have some theory about the territorial nature of it. My woman wearing my clothes and all that. 'Is our shower broken?' she asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

'Oh no. I just didn't want to wake you.'

'Oh. Okay.' And there it is again, the painful silence. Surely the conversation should break twenty words before we run out of things to say?

'You want me to get the back?' she says, gesturing awkwardly at the comb.

'Yeah, thanks.' Standing behind me is better, the mirror's still all steamed up so we won't have to avoid eye contact.

'You want breakfast? I could make you pancakes or french toast. Just forget you're a heart surgeon for five minutes. Okay fine,' she says playfully, mistaking my silence for disapproval. 'I'll make you eggs. Egg whites. Whatever you want.'

'You don't have to do that.'

'I _like_ doing things for you. And you must be dying for a decent meal, when's the last time you ate something that wasn't from the cafeteria?'

'I've had a lot on at work,' I offer lamely, hearing the gentle reproval loud and clear.

'Right.' She sighs and puts the comb down. I'm just about to try and think up an excuse to leave when her arms steal around my waist. She's hesitant, giving me the opportunity to shrug her off but I don't. I can't. Instead, against my better judgement, I lean back into her embrace. Her lips are on my shoulder, tasting my damp skin.

'I miss you.' Her voice is whisper soft, heavy, laden.

'You...you know the job,' I manage to say, once I've stopped myself saying what I _really_ want to say which is 'I miss you too.'

'Yeah, I guess.' She pauses and I wonder if she's going to confront me properly but apparently she thinks better of it. 'So, what do you want to do today? The weather's kind of crappy but we could go and see a movie maybe. I don't know what's on. Or we could go to yoga, we haven't done that in a while. Not the kind in the room that's an oven though. Or,' she swallows and presses herself fully against me, her hips surging forward. 'Or we could just stay in.'

Her hands are suddenly underneath the towel, on my stomach, my hips, and then, tortuously, tracing patterns on my inner thighs.

'Callie,' I gasp. _Stop_ is what I should say but somehow my mouth is forming _more_ instead.

She spins me around to face her and before I can be disappointed that she's not touching me anymore she's pinned me against the sink and her leg is between mine, pressing right _there. _Her eyes sweep over me, taking in the rapid rise and fall of my chest and when that appreciative smirk spreads slowly across her face I can't help it, I press back, down, into her. There's something like relief in her eyes when she leans into kiss me but all too soon she's pulling away, leaving me frustrated beyond belief.

'Come back to bed, _corazon_,' she says laughing and pulling me towards our bedroom. 'You're so tense, I'll give you a massage.'

Images explode in my head; the sweet pressure of Callie on top of me, her hands on me and both of us slick and moving against each other...it's overwhelming how much I want her. But even as I feel my control slipping away a sense of unease comes over me. It's the nickname, I realize.

She'd called me it offhand one day and then nearly killed herself laughing at my pronunciation when I attempted to repeat it. 'My heart!' she'd said dramatically. 'It's appropriate, don't you think? Unless you prefer something else? _Amorcito? Vida? Cari__ñ__o?' _I'd told her that _corazon_ was fine if she was going to insist on being sappy. 'Yeah, I am,' and a kiss on the cheek was her response. Hearing her call me it today, so easily and affectionately, just feels wrong. Like I'm unfit for it.

'Erica?' She says softly when I hesitate. Uncertainty creeps over her face.

'I...' My voice fades away into nothing and I can only shake my head. Her hand drops mine like a stone.

'I told myself I was imagining things,' she murmurs, her voice catching in her throat. 'I tried to convince myself that you were spending all your time at work because you needed to do extra research to get the Harper fucking Avery or whatever. Every time you didn't come home I told myself it wasn't me. And then...then I couldn't lie to myself anymore because it was obvious that it _was_ me. So I thought, okay, it's my fault that we can't talk anymore, I asked you for something that you can't give me. We can't talk but I thought maybe...maybe we could connect this way. But now I find out that I want to hold you and touch you and _love_ you and you...what? You want me to fuck you on the bathroom floor? Why are you doing this? Why won't you let me-'

'I'm trying to make it easier for you, keeping my distance!' I shoot back. 'If I'm not around you don't have to pretend that everything's okay. You don't have to try not to hate me!'

She looks at me, completely stunned and appalled.

'You think I hate you?'

'I hate myself,' I admit.

'Erica,' she says tersely. 'I _love_ you. Even though you're making it pretty damn difficult at the moment. Even though you won't let me. I love you all the same. And I won't stop.'

'I'm sorry,' is all I can say and it's nowhere near enough.

'I'll go out. I'll go to Yang's or Mark's and tomorrow we'll go back to work and it'll all be okay.'

* * *

'One of the interns told me you were down here. I told him to go and get some sleep because he was clearly hallucinating but here you are. You are in my clinic.'

I don't even glance up from the charts I'm signing off on.

'Yes Bailey, here I am. I am in the clinic that I've been volunteering in since I first started working here. I also give to charity and recycle. All of which falls right in the category of 'none of your business''.

'Mmm hmm. Where would you like to go?'

'What?'

'To talk.'

That gets my attention. For such a ridiculously short person she's quite talented at staring people down.

'You want to talk? To me?' I repeat, just to make sure I heard her right. 'Is this about a patient?' I ask, fervently hoping that it is. 'I'm not on the board today Bailey, page Altman or whoever's on call.'

'Oh I _wish_ it was about a patient. And no, I don't _want_ to but I have been _seeing_ things, things that need _talking_ about and so we are going to _talk_.'

'Bailey, I really don't have time for-'

'Torres is moping. I thought I recognised the signs and then I realized the last time I saw her like this was when O'Malley cheated on her with Stevens. Oh I know you're not doing _that,' _she says impatiently when I open my mouth to deliver some righteous indignation. 'You think I'm an idiot? _Anyway_, I got nervous. Then I notice that you're not doing that goofy little thing you do whenever Torres comes into the room, you know when you look at her all adoring and worshipful, in fact you are _hiding _from Torres and living at the hospital like some junkie intern. Unfortunately, _unfortunately _I am not the only one who has _noticed_ this. Apparently you and Torres are some kind of aspirational couple for us all to try and _emulate_. So now I have Kepner wringing her hands and telling me that if you and Torres can't make it there's no hope of her ever finding love. I've got Lexie Grey inhaling anything chocolate flavored because she is just so damn _worried_ about you two. Shepherd has invented a special _concerned leaning stare_ that he uses exclusively in connection to you and Torres. Now, you think I need all this?'

Fully aware that the rhetorical question is just an opportunity for Bailey to draw breath, I remain silent.

'I don't,' she confirms flatly. 'You two are obviously incapable of working through your problems _yourdamnselves_ so I have _dispatched_ Sloan to find Torres and do his work husband thing and _you_ are going to talk to _me_ because, frankly, everyone else is afraid of you. We are going to _solve_ this as a _team._ Now, if you want to have this discussion here then that's fine with me but considering your admirable commitment to keeping your private stuff _private_, I _suggest_ you be at my office in ten minutes with a mocha latte and a chocolate muffin. Okay?'

She stalks away without waiting for a response from me and, once I've recovered from her rant, I tell myself that I'm not going. Screw Bailey and her preaching. Screw what everyone else thinks of me. So I'm pretty pissed off with myself when I'm knocking on her office door exactly ten minutes later like I've been summoned to the principal's office. What I'm _furious_ about though is that I've actually brought her the damn mocha latte and the muffin.

'Put the coffee down there,' she commands regally when I've been given leave to enter. 'And the muf-' Her eyes narrow. 'That's blueberry.'

'_I _like blueberry,' I say stubbornly.

Her eyebrows shoot up an impressive distance.

'You think I'm sharing this?'

I can't help myself, I laugh, more from tired irony than actual amusement, but still. It has come to this.

'Alright then,' she says, taking an appreciative sip of coffee and settling herself in her chair which looks considerably more comfortable than mine. 'Begin.'

And really, how can telling Bailey make this intolerable situation any worse?

'Callie wants to have a baby. With me. She wants us to have a baby together.'

'Hardly going to have one with anyone else, is she?' She fires back at me, tone dry as dust, but then her face softens and she gestures for me to carry on.

'I...don't think it's a good idea.'

'Why?' When I pause she prompts me in her teaching voice. 'Explain the reasons that lead to your conclusion, Hahn. Okay, this is even more excruciating than I thought it would be. Imagine we're discussing a treatment plan for a patient,' she tells me when I remain silent. 'And we're disagreeing- shouldn't be too hard to picture- and you are _convincing_ me that your _treatment plan_ is best. Go.'

'I don't _know_ children,' I begin in a rush.

'You'll be living together, the two of you will get to know each other pretty well. Next.'

'I don't know what children like! What would I do with it?'

'Well, firstly you'll want to stop referring to your child as 'it'. Then you're going to ask yourself if you could keep a puppy entertained and if the answer is 'yes' then you can also keep a child entertained. Children like fresh air, eating, discipline, boundaries, repetition, brightly colored _things_...making a mess of your damn house, love, they like being told how good and clever they are. It's not complicated.' She ramps up the force of her sardonic gaze from mild to full force. 'You think you can look after a puppy, Hahn? Think you're capable of that?'

'Um, yes...I suppose.'

'That's what I thought. Next?'

'I have...nice things. Nice clothes and breakable things. And...art! Art that they would tear off the walls and crayon on.'

'Oh no,' she says, shaking her head disapprovingly. 'You're not shallow. You're _vain_, sure. Got an ego bigger than some continents. Maybe even bigger than Burke's which is no small achievement. But you're not shallow. Baby sick on your silk blouse is not what this is about. And hang your _art_ higher, what is it on the floor or something?'

I scowl at her but she's undeterred.

'Is that all you've got?'

'I work too much,' I try.

'At the _moment_ you do. When you were acting like a member of the human race instead of a surgical robot you worked five days a week like the rest of the world. There's daycare. And babysitters. _Also_ the fact that your kid knowing that Mom saves lives for a living would be no bad thing. You might even give them something to look up to.'

'They might be bullied. Having same sex parents might-'

'Hahn. Your child. Being bullied. Come on. After you teach them your death ray stare?'

'My what?'

'Didn't invent the name. Just the messenger. Anything else for me? Any _real _reasons?'

I stare at my hands for a few seconds, debating whether to voice what I've been thinking ever since Callie brought this up for the first time.

'I would be a terrible mother,' I admit, finally. 'I'm not cut out for it, okay? Callie should have a baby. Just not with me.'

When I look up at Bailey again I don't know what I want to see. Agreement? Disagreement? I can't make out either, she just looks considering, like she's giving my opinion a fair hearing.

'Hahn,' she says eventually. 'You think Torres wants to have a child with some black souled, emotionally closed off, aloof ice queen?'

Okay, I knew Bailey watched everyone like the all seeing eye but I did not realize her powers extended to mind reading.

'No-'

'Exactly,' she cuts in before I can tell her that's precisely why it can't happen. 'She does not want to have a child with that person. She wants to have a child with _you_. Obviously she _sees_ something in you that makes her want to create life with you. And I think, if you want to know what I think?'

I nod, reluctantly.

'I think you should try really hard to see what she sees before you say no. Can you do that for me, Hahn? Can you do that for me and all the rest of the staff who are rooting for you two crazy kids?'

'Yes, O Wise One,' I mutter sarcastically, glad that mine and Bailey's exchange of feelings is over.

'I'm not saying it wouldn't be _amusing_ seeing you raise a child. It would be sitcom material. You'd be like Jar Jar Binks at the Battle of Grassy Plains. But think okay, that child is going to get Torres's genes. The crazy Torres lives in the basement, elopes to the chapel of Elvis, _likes to crush bones_ genes. Someone needs to save that child from itself. No reason why it can't be you. Dismissed, Hahn. Let's never do this again.'

* * *

Two days later I'm pretending to write a journal article in my office when Callie pokes her head around the door.

'Hey,' she says awkwardly, hovering on the threshold uncertainly. 'I saw Altman reading Burke's article in JCTS and I figured you'd be in here plotting his downfall or trying to write something better.'

'I _will_ write something better,' I say, arching my eyebrows and she smiles. I can still make her smile, that's something.

'Right, of course. Burke will be forced to lead a parade in your honor and throw flowers at your feet when he reads your next submission.'

'That's better. You can come in you know, you don't have to cower in my presence like my medical student groupies.'

Another smile. Even a laugh. Things that are like endangered species these days. She sits on the couch and, after a small internal battle, I go and sit with her. We used to have lunch in here all the time before this whole mess. 'Lunch at the palace today?' she'd ask mockingly, referring to the fact she _shared_ a supply closet size office with another ortho attending and I got treated like royalty with the couch and the coffee table and a computer that worked more than 30% of the time. 'I _am_ royalty, Torres,' I told her grandly, once. 'And you're the royal carpenter. Now, back to your workshop, go and carve me something.' My next birthday she presented me with a piece of wood the size of my hand. After much close inspection it revealed itself to be a heart, roughly hewn, with dangerously sharp edges. 'By commission of Her Majesty,' was written on the back. She thought I was kidding when I said I'd keep it in my desk but it's in the third drawer down on the left, the one that locks. I want it back, the jokes and the easiness and the closeness. I want it all back.

'So, I had a weird conversation with Bailey just now,' Callie starts, laughing nervously. 'She um, pounced on me in the scrub room and yelled something about Robbins being too sad to wheel herself around anymore and I had to go and make you see before people started crying in the halls. She said she'd know if I hadn't talked to you, which from anyone else I would have thought was crap, but...she's Bailey. Oh, and she told me to tell my 'damn girlfriend' that next time she gives you an order for baked goods you bring what you're told to bring.'

'Did she now?' I say, rolling my eyes.

'Do you have any idea what she was talking about?'

'I...yes. Bailey and I had a little talk the other day.'

'A talk? About-'

'Our feelings, yes. Actually, just my feelings. She forced me to!' I stress when Callie's jaw drops in surprise.

'Wow. Wish you'd have thought to get that on video.'

'Ha ha. Callie,' I say, summoning up my courage. 'You need to tell me why you want to have a baby with me. Not just why _you_ want a baby but why you think _I _would be any good at...motherhood. Because I have a very big and very real fear that I would screw up a kid-'

'Erica, no-' she starts to say, shaking her head but I cut her off.

'Callie, it's not enough to just _tell_ me I'm wrong. You have to tell me _why_ I'm wrong. And I'm pretty damn stubborn so you're going to have to be really convincing.'

She looks at me as if she can't believe what she's hearing and then she actually _laughs_ which doesn't exactly encourage me to keep pouring my heart out.

'This is a cardio thing,' she says, mostly to herself.

'What?'

'Always needing to be complimented. Anybody would think you people are needy and self-conscious.'

'_What_? No, that is not what this is-'

'Erica. I can't believe I actually have to tell you this but you're the best thing that ever happened to me. You have never let me down and you never will. When you promise me something you do it. Every single time. You don't screw me around. I _trust_ you completely and...really do you have any idea how hard I find it to trust people? You are always happy to see me. Whenever I have a crisis you help me through it. You protect me, you look after me. You tell me that you love me and that I'm beautiful all the time and if you never told me that you loved me again I would know anyway. Your love is the most certain thing in my life. I was a mess before I met you, my whole life I was insecure. And I'm not anymore. Because of you.'

'I _like_ that you don't make a big deal of us at work. I _like_ that you're not feeling me up in the on call rooms. Because it means that you've got nothing to prove. I get a part of you that no-one else does. And _that's_ the part...' She breaks off momentarily and looks me straight in the eye. 'Erica, if I was pregnant you wouldn't even let me pick up a piece of paper. I'm not saying you'd _fuss _over me but you would just _do_ everything for me. When I wanted pickles with peanut butter or whatever you would laugh at me and pretend to be grossed out but you'd buy them for me. I would freak out about everything going wrong and you would be calm and talk me down. You would read every damn book about parenting so you could be the best for our baby. I wouldn't have to worry about the crib not being assembled or the stroller not having arrived because you would just _take care_ of all that. You would want to do that for me.'

'And then when the baby was _born_, God they would be so _safe_ with you. They would never be late for anything. They would never be unprepared for anything. They would never be disappointed by you. I think about all the little things you would do with them, Erica. How you would read to them every night and take them to the bakery to buy pastries for me on a Saturday morning before I was awake. I see our kid running around the house with your stethoscope on and saying this bear needs a valve replacement and this one just needs angioplasty. Our baby would love you, Erica. They would love you.'

'H-how do you even expect me to respond to that?' I stutter when I've regained the power of speech. 'I treat you the way that you _deserve_ to be treated, that doesn't make me _special_.'

'Hey, I answered your question, okay?' she says, with a big smile on her face. 'I think you're wonderful, I can't tell you that?'

I shrug and blush, most likely making myself look like a complete idiot in the process.

'Look,' she says softly, lifting her hand to stroke my cheek. 'If you still decide that it's not what you want then I will be...really disappointed, I can't lie about that. But I made a life with you first. I'm not about to just throw that away. I don't need an answer on this now. What I _do_ need you to promise me is that you'll stop running away from me. Because it's _not_ easier. It's kind of awful and unbearable. So promise me, okay?'

'Okay.'

* * *

I drive past the hardware store four times before I work up the nerve to go in. I'm in there less than fifteen minutes, just enough time to storm through the paint aisle, grabbing sample cans in what I hope are appropriate colors. At home I paint a neat square of each on the wall and sit looking at them, waiting for her. I rehearse what I'm going to say over and over again but as soon as I hear her key in the door my mind empties and all I can hear is the tumbleweed rolling around in there.

'Erica? Are you home?'

'In here.'

She appears in the doorway, takes the situation in with one glance- the paint on the wall, me sitting on the floor in our guest room looking like I'm about to face a firing squad, the brush in my hand, ready to begin- and she comes silently, sits next to me and laces her fingers with my pastel colored ones.

How to begin, I wonder wildly. Tell her something easy.

'I tried to be open to pink or blue. But the names- they made me want to hurl. Could you sleep in a room that was 'Fairydust' or 'Pink Sugar' or 'Heavenly Haze'? Because I couldn't. I'd get an ulcer from the lameness of it. I think this one's my favorite,' I say, passing her the can. 'It's yellow.'

She reads the name. 'Sunrise.'

'Or I guess I could live with purple. _Not_ lilac. This kind.'

'Belladonna? Maybe not.'

'Beautiful woman?'

'Deadly nightshade.'

'Oh, okay. But anyway, we should...buy a house, definitely. We shouldn't rush though because we'll want to live there forever. And until we find our house..._they _will need somewhere to sleep. So I will paint this room. Sloan can help. You'll have to tell Yang that she's going to have to sleep it off on the couch from now on because this room is going to be...occupied.'

She still doesn't say anything, just leans her head on my shoulder, smiling.

'I never wanted this,' I hear myself say. 'I _like_ my life, I am panicking about this. But if you trust me to do this with you, if you think I can, then...'

'Then?'

'We're only having one.'

'Okay.'

'I will not carry them around strapped to my chest like some...smug hippy.'

'Okay.'

'I do not _puree_ things.'

'Okay.'

'Promise me we will still have sex.'

'I promise.'

'Then...let's buy some sperm.'

* * *

'Your great-grandfather was German, right?'

'Yeah,' I look up from my book, a little confused as to where that question came from.

'Okay, so do we want specifically German or or just general Western European? Oh! Was he Swiss German?'

'No, he was German German. From Munich. Why?'

She turns the laptop around so I can see the screen and I sigh. She's on the sperm bank website again.

'_I'm_ American,' I remind her.

'Right. There's no box for 'American' though,' she says, frowning. I take a closer look and see 'blond hair' and 'blue eyes' already entered as search terms. 'General European? Or just Caucasian?' she muses.

'You...want the donor to look like me?'

'Well, yeah.' She shrugs like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'Don't you? Ooh, this one has a bachelor's degree in Biochemistry, you've got that too!'

'I know.'

My obvious lack of enthusiasm finally prises her attention away from 'Adam' who is apparently intellectual, athletic and loves to travel. I'd thought that donors were just numbers and, to be honest, that was a relief. I don't _want_ to be able to pay $10 for a baby photograph or an audio interview, payable via PayPal, Amex, MasterCard, VISA or Discovery. It just makes me feel less involved, like this _donor_ is more important than me.

'Is something wrong?'

'Putting aside the fact that purchasing DNA based on eye color and intelligence is veering dangerously close to eugenics, don't you think it might be easier if the baby isn't light skinned and blond? For your family, I mean.'

Callie's family. Not a subject that either of us care to bring up very often seeing as how they are always capable of spoiling your mood, despite the fact that they live 3000 miles away. Her father at least calls me Erica. Her mother and I are still at Dr. Hahn and Mrs Torres. I've stopped bothering telling her to call me by my first name, she's never once mentioned that she _has _a first name to me. They visit once a year and I start dreading them arriving about six weeks in advance. Callie cleans the apartment obsessively even though I know full well, and she does too, though she won't admit it, that they're not setting foot in here as long as we're sharing a bed. I offered to sleep on the couch a few visits back but Callie cried and started yelling stuff like she hated them and she was going to tell them not to bother coming if they didn't start treating me better. I knew she didn't mean it and I wasn't going to be responsible for her cutting ties with her family so I told her to forget it. So they stay at the Archfield, usually only for three nights. It feels like a year.

They're not openly hostile. Not to my face and not in English, anyway. I don't even bother worrying about what Callie's mother says in Spanish about me to Callie, I know it's bad because Callie's always furious with her but I don't ask and she doesn't tell. It's the little things that stick in my throat, her mother touching the necklace Callie's wearing and saying it's beautiful, Callie telling her that I bought it for her and her mother pulling her hand away like it's been burned. Or the fact that they needed to borrow a car once and when they found out that Callie was offering them _my_ car they got a rental instead. Whenever they're here Callie spends 90% of the time apologising to me, and I spend 90% of the time telling her that it's not her fault.

There's always one excruciating dinner at an obnoxiously expensive restaurant which we're all forced to suffer through. Last time it had actually been going fairly well, we'd managed to strike up a conversation about something mundane and inoffensive. That was until Callie mentioned that she'd gone to mass last weekend, obviously thinking this would please her mother. Instead Mamá looked like she'd just swallowed broken glass and said in her best judgmental voice:

'You didn't take communion did you?'

That's the closest I've come to losing my temper with her, the only thing that restrained me was the fact that she looked straight at me, daring me to. Callie managed not to cry until we were in the car, going home. I'd always thought people who said that they 'cried themselves to sleep' were being melodramatic but she did and I had to watch. My murderous rage didn't even start to fade until a week after they'd left.

Lucia's finest moment so far came when they were waiting at the nurse's station for Callie to go to lunch with them one time. I was standing at the board with my back to them, they didn't know I was there or maybe they did, who knows? Yang was at the desk, looking at a chart. I was planning to sneak away before they saw me but then I realized what they were talking about.

'Father Kevin says she can repent at any time. We just have to be waiting when she finally comes to her senses. It's not too late for her.'

I'll admit, hearing that they were just biding their time until Callie, the woman that I loved an unbearable amount and would have died for, saw the light and went rushing home to salvation, was enough to pierce even my skin, which I would have sworn was impenetrable. All I could salvage from the situation was how incredibly fortunate it was that Callie hadn't had to hear that.

'Let's go and wait for Calliope in the cafeteria. Could you tell her where we are, Dr. Yang?'

'Yes sir, I'll tell her.' I thought I heard an undertone of disapproval in Yang's voice but I quickly told myself I was imagining it.

'Thankyou, dear.' This was said with more warmth and affection than she had managed to summon up for me in three years. I heard them walk away and then Lexie Grey's voice.

'Are they Callie's parents?'

Yang raised her voice just enough to be certain that I'd hear her.

'Yeah, Carlos and Lucifer.'

Lucifer. It made me feel better. Shouldn't have done but it did.

A few seconds later she walked past me on her way to the ICU.

'Yang-'

'I won't tell her.'

And that's the situation. Callie goes to Miami once a year too. When she's booking the flights we always go through a little ritual where we both ask each other a question.

'Do you want to come with me?'

'Did they invite me?'

Maybe one day we'll both be able to say yes to each other.

'My parents aren't _racists,' _Callie says, frowning.

'That's not what I meant. I just think they might find it hard to take if the baby looks like me. Wouldn't it just be simpler if-'

'It doesn't matter what my parents think,' she lies. 'They'll have to get over it.'

'Look, you don't have to pretend like you don't care. I'm not angry with you for loving your-'

'_Your_ parents won't care that you're raising a Hispanic child. They won't even care that you're not biologically related to them. They'll just tack them on to the number of grandchildren that they have and love them, like the rest.'

'Yes,' I admit.

My parents love Callie. Whenever I call them they want to speak to her. They demand that I bring her home with me when I go to visit. My brothers love her, my nephews and nieces love her, she is universally adored by everyone who is important to me. When I tell my Mom that Callie and I are going to have a baby she will probably combust with excitement.

'I love being here,' she told me once when we were at my parents for Thanksgiving. 'But it makes me so ashamed of my family.'

'If your parents can do that then mine can handle the baby possibly having blue eyes,' she insists stubbornly.

'Can they?' I raise my eyebrows, still sceptical. 'Because if it hurts you to see them treat me like dirt, imagine how you'll feel when-'

'Erica! Leave it, okay? I don't want to talk about this now.'

Sometimes we get teased about getting married. It's not important to me, not really. We have all the paperwork, we own the apartment together and she's my official next of kin. Getting married wouldn't change anything, it would be a totally symbolic gesture. Except that I know that getting married _is_ important to Callie and it bothers _her_ that it can't happen in a church and that, barring a miracle, her family wouldn't come. There's a part of me, a small, completely irrational part, that wonders if she'll come back when she goes to Miami or whether this phone call to her mother will be the one that convinces her that our life together is wrong. That's the part of me that wants to make a totally symbolic gesture.

'Fine.'

'Do you like this donor?'

'He sounds delightful,' I say, unable to stop the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

She looks a little wounded and turns back to the screen, muttering under her breath.

_Let it go. Let it go._

_'_What was that?'

My Mom's fond of telling me that I could have an argument with a brick wall.

'I _said_ that you could take a little more interest, considering that this could be-'

'What? The father of your child?'

'_Our_ child,' she corrects me coldly. 'And they're the _donor_, not the _father_.'

'Well Callie, at the moment it doesn't feel like our child. It feels like yours and his.'

Even as I'm talking I'm more than aware of how petulant I sound. I am jealous of sperm.

'What?' she questions. 'What are you talking about? The donor's like...the appendix! No-one misses their appendix!'

'Right,' I say, not really understanding her little metaphor. 'You seem to be pretty invested in making sure that our kid has a nice...appendix, considering how much it doesn't matter.'

'Erica, we need this person _now_. That doesn't mean that they're going tomatter further down the line. As soon as I see the plus sign on a pregnancy test it's just you and me all the way.'

'Then why are you telling me about his degree in biochemistry like it's predestined? When our kid's a genius I want people to say it was because of me and you, not _him_.'

'A genius, huh?' She says, smiling.

'Naturally,' I confirm. 'Or a star athlete. Maybe both, who knows?'

'When our son wins the Harper Avery, I guarantee people will say 'That's Erica Hahn's son.'' Callie says easily, blatantly stroking my ego. It works. I _am_ a surgeon after all.

'I won't need him to look like me to be proud of him,' I reiterate. 'If _you _want some rugged European donor then by all means, go ahead, but it really doesn't matter to me. I don't care what the donor's like. I want a blank slate.'

'Okay,' She's still smiling and I know she's imagining something to do with babies. I try it too, I try and imagine seeing my child winning the Harper Avery. I imagine rubbing it in Burke's face when his kids become dermatologists. It's kind of nice.

'That reminds me, we need to find a clinic where you can be...you know.' I can't bring myself to say 'inseminated', that word belongs in science fiction novels. 'Addison can probably recommend somewhere, do you want me to call her? What?' I ask because the smile's slid off her face and she's looking at me like I've said the wrong thing. 'Do you want her to do it? Because I guess she could but we'd have to take vacation days to fly down there and we should probably save them up for...oh,' I realize. 'You want me to do it.'

She raises her eyebrows. 'Dr. Hahn can't handle a syringe?'

It's what's going to be _in _the syringe that's the problem. I don't want sperm in my house, I don't want to look at it, think about it, _put it_ anywhere but I'm fully aware that I'm being ridiculous so I don't say that to her.

'No, I can. Of course I can. You know success is more likely if we go to a clinic though, right?'

She sighs. 'Look, if it doesn't work out then we can try and do it that way. But before I start getting crazy hormone shots and sitting in the stirrups can we try it the nice way first?'

I am at a total loss as to what the 'nice way' is and it must show on my face because she laughs at me.

'Erica,' she says, in her best seductive tone, which is pretty damn effective, 'I want to make our baby here. In bed.'

'You..._oh!_' Understanding dawns on me. 'Really?'

'You don't want to,' she states, pouting.

'I will, if that's what you want,' I reassure her. 'But won't it be...you know, kind of a moodkiller?' Personally I can't think of anything _less_ sexy.

She looks at me as if I've thrown down a gauntlet.

'We'll see, won't we?'

* * *

'Hey guess what, Hahn? Torres is ovulating!'

This is announced to the entire lounge as I walk in the door after an eight hour surgery that started at 4am. Luckily, we're the only three people in here but I wouldn't be surprised if they heard in Oregon, the volume Sloan speaks at.

'Congratulations,' I say to Callie as I collapse on the couch.

'Two lines,' he announces authoritatively, waving the ovulation test in my face. I swat it away but he's undeterred. 'She took her temperature, too. Don't worry, I didn't help with that. We've consulted the chart and it's game on, ladies!'

'You have a _chart?' _I ask, disbelievingly.

Callie shrugs but she's practically bouncing with excitement. I blame Sloan.

'Do you want to see?' He gets out his phone and starts pressing buttons.

'That's fine, Mark. You two seem to have things covered.'

'You know, I still can't see why you two didn't want _my_ sperm but never mind. I'm going to be Uncle Mark!' he says, puffing out his chest like a neanderthal and strutting around.

'Mark,' Callie giggles, obviously delighted. 'Calm down.'

'I'd like to put myself forward for godfather. Just something to think about.'

'Don't push it, Sloan,' I warn him, already knowing full well that he _will_ end up being godfather, because Callie will beg me. I draw the line at Yang being responsible for my child's spiritual welfare though.

'Alright then, I'm going to go and get you some _supplies_,' he says, with a lecherous grin on his face. 'I'll give them to Torres and I'll want a full report tomorrow morning.' Over my dead body. 'Oh, and Hahn?'

'What?'

'Make sure Torres crosses the finish line. Our research shows that's very important. Shouldn't be a problem for you though, according to Torres.' He winks at me and makes a swift exit, before I get a chance to throw something heavy at him.

'Beat it, Sloan,' I yell after him. I'm not even really angry with him, the years have made me less and less sensitive to his crassness.

'He needs a baby of his own,' I say wearily to Callie who comes over and rubs my shoulders for me.

'Surgery run long?,' she asks sympathetically.

'Mmm, yeah. So tonight, huh?'

'Yeah.' Her hands still and I can feel the anticipation running through her.

'Did the...stuff get delivered?'

'Yes!' She laughs at my wording. 'It arrived yesterday and I hid it so you wouldn't freak out.'

'I wouldn't have...' I start to protest weakly but I can't summon up the energy to lie convincingly.

'You would have. But it's okay. What time do you finish today?'

'Six, hopefully.'

'Okay, so I'll get everything ready before you get home. And then...'

'Yeah.'

'It could be tonight!' she blurts out. 'We might make a baby tonight!'

'Maybe,' I say carefully, pretty sure that we've both got butterflies. Except hers are excited butterflies and mine are verging on hysteria with trepidation butterflies. Like when I realised Callie was going to kiss me for the first time.

'I know, I know, it won't happen the first time. But you never _know_, right?' Wouldn't it be just my luck if it did. 'Oh, I have to go! I'll see you tonight?' she says, kissing me quickly after making sure that we're still alone

'Yeah, see you tonight.'

Of course I don't get home until ten. I'm exhausted and starving, in danger of falling asleep on my feet and ready to just get it over with and then sleep for several days.

'Hey,' I call out. 'I'm so sorry that I'm late but I'm ready to g-'

The words die in my throat when she appears in the doorway of our bedroom wearing red lingerie. Fire truck red. Blood red. In my pre-Callie naivety I had dismissed red lingerie as tacky and cheap. Now I see the error of my ways. And her skin...I love the color of her skin.

'Mark called and said you got tied up with an emergency.'

'Mmm...yeah. Emergency. It was emergent.'

I tell myself sternly to stop gawping like a moron but I'm afraid she's some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination and I'm going to wake up in the on call room any second.

'You like?' she asks teasingly, obviously enjoying my reaction.

'Yes. Very much. Very much indeed. Which is not to say you should feel hesitant about taking it off.'

'Come here and take if off for me.'

'I'm gross,' I protest, even as I move forward, unable to stop myself. 'I've been in surgery all day. I shouldn't touch you. I'll taint you.'

She rolls her eyes affectionately. Behind her I can see flickering lights that indicate either lots of candles or a very large fire. My feeble brain deduces that it smells too nice to be fire.

'I ran you a bath. Well, it's not just for you. You want to take a bath?'

'Oh yes. But wait,' I remember suddenly. 'Don't we have to-'

'Don't think about it. Just get in the bath, this outfit may be pleasing to your eyes but it is not comfortable.'

The nice way is very nice as it happens.

* * *

It doesn't work the first time. Or the five times after that. My reaction veers between insane relief and awful disappointment when I see how devastated Callie is every time that plus sign doesn't appear.

She pages me to the clinic ten days after the seventh attempt. Lucky number seven she said. She's in one of the cubicles, sitting on the bed. It's before official opening time so the place is deserted.

'Hey, can you draw some blood for me?' she asks. 'I was going to ask whoever was down here to do it but it's Heron and her voice is annoying enough without her putting a needle in my arm as well. And I guess it's pointless telling the interns not to mutilate themselves if they catch me taking my own blood.'

'Alright.'

I grab the supplies from the cart and swab her arm with alcohol. She looks nervous and I can feel her pulse racing when my hand brushes her wrist.

'I bet it's a long time since you did something as mundane as taking blood, huh?'

'I think I still remember how.'

'Oh yeah, I barely even felt that. Excellent blood taking skills, Dr. Hahn,' she remarks as the vial fills.

'Have I ever told you that you have beautiful veins?'

'No. And it means so much coming from such an aficionado of the circulatory system.'

'Best veins I've ever seen.' I press gauze to the tiny wound. 'Do you feel okay? Do you feel-'

'No. I do not have a single physical symptom, no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I do. But I just _feel_ _different _and I know I'm being ridiculous and I should probably wait and pee on the stick like a normal person but I'm a doctor so I can't.'

'It's okay,' I try and reassure her.

'Really? Because you're looking kind of pale.'

'What? No, come on...'

'I'm scared too,' she confesses, squeezing my hand. 'We can be scared together. Worked out pretty well last time, right?'

'It did,' I agree. 'I think I'm more scared this time though.'

'Me too. We can be terrified together?'

'Deal.' Somewhere in my mind I note that if the test is positive then yes, I will be terrified beyond belief, but I will not be _horrified. _This revelation only ramps my fear levels up higher. 'So, I will take this to the lab. I'll put it in under Jane Doe?'

'Yeah. Tell them it's your patient though, I want you to be the one to tell me.'

'Try-'

'-not to get my hopes up, right.'

I attempt to distract myself for the next few hours but I'm not scheduled to be in surgery today and disappointingly few traumas roll into the pit. Time passes excruciatingly slowly and however much I try to immerse myself in paperwork my mind just won't stop churning with anticipation. I'm considering stealing one of Yang's surgeries just to give myself something to do when I see one of the junior residents assigned to the cardio service heading my way.

'Dr. Hahn, lab results on your Jane Doe. All normal except that their hCG level is 35. I guess they're not a good candidate for heart surgery.'

Normally I would bite the head off any resident who had the misfortune of making such a dumb, obvious statement in my presence. Instead I drop the chart I'm holding, like his idiocy is infectious. Someone hands it back to me before I have the opportunity to retrieve it myself.

'A little clumsy today, Dr. Hahn?' Bailey's inscrutable face stares up at mine. I open my mouth a few times but no sound comes out.

'Which room are they in, Dr. Hahn?' the resident's saying, apparently oblivious to my reaction. 'I'll go and tell them, they probably don't even know. What procedure did they have scheduled?'

'Um...um,' I will myself to form words but none come. Bailey's head swivels between us like she's at a tennis match, her facial expression growing more suspicious by the second.

'What's this?' she asks the resident.

'One of Dr. Hahn's patients is pregnant.'

'Oh they _are_, are they?' She narrows her eyes at me and I know then that she has used her powers and she _knows_.

'Um, yes. Ma'am.'

'Alright Carson, Dr. Hahn and I will handle this. Run along and see if Yang will let you scrub in on her aneurysm repair. Forget all about this.' She snatches the paper with the lab results on and shoos them away. 'Go!'

Once they're out of sight she wordlessly hands me the results and there it is in black and white. I stare at it until the numbers swim on the page.

'You okay?'

'Yes. No. Maybe. Probably.'

'Mmm hmm. Go and tell Torres.'

I check my watch, Callie's going into surgery in five minutes. Before I even get the chance to wonder whether it would be better to wait until afterwards Bailey decides for me.

'Tell her now. She won't be thinking about anything else anyway. Unless you're going to faint or vomit. Then you should wait until I've made you pull yourself together.'

'No, no. I'm...good. I'm fine. How?'

''You're pregnant' is usually very effective. Very concise. Get out of here!'

I sprint to OR2 and catch Callie in the scrub room just before she goes into surgery. Thankfully she's alone.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, out of breath and out of sorts, the only part of her face that I can see above the surgical mask.

'Well?'

Somehow I resist the urge to say something wildly inappropriate like 'there is a parasite growing inside of you.' I settle for just one word.

'Yes.'

'Yes?'

'Yes.' I show her the lab results, my hand making the paper shake just a little. She laughs, a breathless, exhilarated sound that makes me smile.

'Holy crap.'

'Yeah,' I agree, still smiling for absolutely no reason.

Her hands move slowly down to her stomach but at the last moment she remembers that she can't touch anything and they hover over space that will be filled in a few months time. She looks at me, my hand reaches out and, just for a second, covers the spot where a bunch of cells are dividing rapidly. A person. With my hand resting on her stomach I feel weirdly possessive of those cells, like they're important. Like they have potential.

The automatic door hisses behind us and we jump apart. It's Hunt.

'Ladies,' he says in that pleasant, oblivious way of his. 'Are you scrubbing in, Hahn?' he asks as he turns the faucet on. 'I didn't see your name on the board.'

'No, no. I guess I should leave you guys to it. I'll see you at home?' I say to Callie, doing my best to tamp down the inexplicable desire that I'm feeling to touch her.

'Yes. Home. Where we go when we're not at work. I will see you there.'

Hunt looks a bit perplexed by her babbling but doesn't question it.

'Callie? Drive carefully.'


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: In first chapter

I do not pretend to be a doctor/astronomer, if I have provided incorrect information then I apologize. All mistakes are mine.

* * *

'Why am I not sick?' Callie dumps her tray on our lunch table and sits down heavily. The question's directed at Sloan, I've already answered it more times than I care to remember.

'I don't know,' he says shrugging. 'Not every woman gets sick. It's a good thing, right?'

Normally I wouldn't want to have this discussion in the cafeteria where we can be so easily overheard but I'm pretty sure that the secret is out. Callie told Sloan within hours of finding out herself, Sloan will have almost certainly told Shepherd, Shepherd probably mentioned it to Grey, Grey will have whispered it in Yang's ear and down the incestuous food chain it will have passed. Yang to Hunt, Hunt to Altman, Altman to Robbins, Robbins to Karev and so on and so forth. Webber might not know, I suppose. Even taking into account that Bailey's his work wife, she's unusually discreet for this place. She's had plenty of practice covering up her dysfunctional interns' messy mistakes after all.

'No, it's not _good_. I should be puking my guts up all day and existing on crackers and ginger ale! People should be telling me how awful I look! Instead I'm just hungry all the time. Sickness is normal and...positive! I should be being sick.'

'Come on, Torres, a healthy appetite is a good thing. You're eating for two now.' Oh Sloan, how naïve you are if you think that's even going to make a dent in her paranoia.

'I don't _feel_ pregnant,' she whines.

'You're tired,' I offer. 'You're always tired. You fell asleep in the car the other day.'

'After I'd been on call all night! Why don't I look any different?'

She _does_ look different, at least to me. She's put on some weight, not much, but her face is a little rounder, her figure a little fuller. It suits her and it made me absurdly pleased when I noticed. Her hair's all glossy as well and if she wasn't always so pissed off I might say something dumb and clichéd like she has the 'glow'. I don't know what's happening to _myself_ lately, let alone her. I keep doing disturbing things- yesterday I watched her sleep for fifteen minutes before I snapped myself out of it, and I'm constantly thinking about how much I love her. It's all I can do to stop myself _saying_ how much I love her all the time. Thankfully Bailey seems to be the only psychic in the hospital because if people could read my thoughts at the moment I would be finished here. No-one would ever fear me again. For a split second I consider telling her that she's put on weight but the potential for it to be taken the wrong way is too risky and revenge could be swift and brutal.

'You're only five weeks, it's too early for that,' I say instead.

'Torres, your boobs are obscene,' Sloan chips in, no doubt thinking that he's being helpful. 'Talk of the intern's locker room. You want to start painting this weekend, Hahn? We can just do the base coat if you haven't picked a color yet.'

Before I can glare at him, tell him sharply to keep his manwhore eyes away from Callie's chest and then accept his offer of help, Callie declines for me.

'No! You can't do that yet, it's too early! What if something goes wrong?'

Damn Catholic superstition seems to have a nasty habit of worming its way into every aspect of my life.

'Nothing's going to go wrong,' I say, probably for the thousandth time, trying very hard to sound patient.

'Yeah, come on Torres, that's no way to think. Tiny Torres needs positive energy to grow big and strong.'

'Don't make this into a joke, Mark! I'm telling you, something feels wrong!'

'Are you in pain? Are you bleeding?' I ask, already knowing what the answer will be.

'No. It's just...let's go and see Fields. I want a check up.'

'We'll see her at eight weeks,' I remind her, as gently as I can. 'There's really no point before then, remember what she told us.'

'Yeah, we'll see her in three weeks when I've miscarried.'

The word is fired from her mouth like a bullet and hangs in the air, unwanted yet impossible to ignore.

'Whoa, Torres,' Sloan looks genuinely concerned now. 'What's brought this on? That's not going to happen.'

'I'm not looking after myself enough, I'm drinking too much coffee-'

'One cup a day. Fields told you it was fine. Addison told you it was fine.' I told you it was fine for all the good it did.

'I should be eating better-'

'You eat well!'

'I drank! Before I knew, I drank!'

'You drank half a glass of wine! Once!' Despite my efforts to be understanding I can hear exasperation creeping into my voice. Sloan cuts in, obviously hoping to diffuse the situation.

'Callie, you're doing great. That baby is lucky to have you.'

'Something feels wrong,' she insists obstinately. 'And if something does go wrong it will be _my fault_.'

'You know that's not true. You're a doctor.' I decide to change tack. 'Look, think about it this way, if a patient was saying this stuff you would tell them-'

'This isn't some patient's baby! This is _my_ baby! I'm their Mom! Don't tell me not to be worried! You just don't care like I do!'

Well. As much as I love to be proved right it turns out to be a not too pleasant experience having pretty much all of my worst fears about this _situation_ come true. I will feel detached from the whole thing, check. I will constantly say and do the wrong thing, check. Callie will be a mom and I'll just feel like an intruder, check. I will ruin this for Callie, check. Oh, and not forgetting I will be a terrible mother. Big check. It hurts to be right sometimes. It hurts a lot.

'I should go prep for my surgery.' It's not for another two hours but there's no way in hell I'm staying here. 'You should um, you should go and see Fields if you think it's for the best. I can't...this afternoon but I'm sure...I'm sure someone...Mark will go with you. Right, Sloan?'

He looks at me and I realize he's pissed off with Callie. He's siding with me. It doesn't make me feel any better exactly but I appreciate it.

'Sure, I'll go with her.'

'Page me if-'

'I won't need to.'

'Okay.' I risk a glance at Callie, she's staring at the table, her face set and unapologetic. 'Bye.'

As I get up I nearly bump into Shepherd who was on his way over to sit with us and now has probably changed his mind. Judging by his awkward expression he heard everything. Perfect.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to-'

'It's fine Shepherd, I was just leaving anyway. Sit down.'

I take off at speed, desperate to get away so I can wallow in private. As I move toward the exit I hear Sloan's incredulous voice.

'What the hell, Torres?'

'Don't Mark, just don't.'

* * *

I don't get paged which I try and tell myself is a good thing, it means nothing's wrong. Or it means that Callie doesn't want me knowing things. I tell myself that Sloan would have paged me anyway but I've shot that down as not being true almost as soon as I've thought it. I vaguely entertain the idea of not going home but I know that I have to. This is my mess and I have to face the consequences.

Shepherd's sitting in the lounge when I go to get my coat and bag. He's alone, waiting for Grey presumably. On the table in front of him is a very expensive looking bottle of scotch.

'Erica,' he says pleasantly, that good natured, charming smile he's so famous for playing around his lips.

'Derek. Gift from another starry eyed patient?' I enquire, gesturing at the scotch.

'Actually, it's a gift for you. From me,' he adds, just to clarify things.

I stare at him, not understanding.

'When Meredith was pregnant with Jessica I kept a bottle of this stuff in my locker. I found it helpful. Necessary sometimes. Have a drink with me? That is if you want to share of course, it's yours after all.'

'No, I'll share.'

I'm not sure I understand Shepherd's motivation here but I could certainly use a drink and if he wants to provide it then I'm not going to argue.

'Excellent.'

He pours a measure into two coffee cups and hands me one with a lot more alcohol in it than your standard shot glass.

'I have to drive, Shepherd.'

'You can catch a ride with me and Meredith. We have to go and pick Jessie up from Meredith's father and I think he lives pretty near to you.'

'In that case, give me some more of my scotch.'

He smiles and tops me up until there's a more than generous amount in the cup. I sip it, enjoying the slow burn of it down my throat.

'Very nice, Shepherd. Thank you.'

'My pleasure. Like I said, it's an essential companion for those with pregnant wives.'

I frown as the car crash that has been today comes rushing back in all its technicolor glory.

'You're doing fine, Hahn,' he says gently.

'Tell that to Callie.'

'Callie was overheard telling every nurse in earshot how lucky she was to have you yesterday. It's hormones at dawn in there at the moment, Hahn. Try not to take anything too personally. Except compliments. You should revel in those.'

'Well, I don't think I'm in danger of receiving any of those tonight.'

'You never know.'

'I'm screwing this up and the kid's not even born yet. They deserve better than me.'

'You know,' he says confidentially. 'I've wanted a kid for as long as I can remember. I've been around kids my whole life. People have been saying that I'd make a good father since I was a teenager. And then Meredith got pregnant. We had problems, you know? I didn't think it was going to happen for us. It was literally a miracle.'

I remember Callie telling me a version of this story but it's oddly touching to hear it from Shepherd himself.

'I've never been so happy,' he continues. 'It was the funniest thing, I didn't think that I could love Meredith any more but I did. And I've never wanted to look after her so much. So I tried, you know, I tried to do everything for her. I wanted to be _useful_. But nothing I did was right. I tried to make her eat- I was nagging, I backed off- I was distant. I told her she was beautiful- I was lying, I said nothing- I thought she was repulsive. Sound familiar?'

I nod, wearily.

'And you know, Meredith was _growing_ them and nourishing them and housing them, she got instincts. They were _sharing a body_. I didn't get any of that, I didn't get any feelings about the right thing to do, I just had to guess. And a lot of the time I guessed wrong. I loved that baby, sure. But I loved them because Meredith was carrying them and you know what, that was good enough. I did my best, just like you are. See it out, Hahn. This is the hard part for you.'

'I didn't want kids. I wanted Callie and I thought if she was there then I might be okay, but now...'

'You're unconventional Hahn, not unfit. And you're an overachiever. Ever been bad at anything?'

I rack my brains.

'French. I sucked at French.'

'I think your kid's language is going to be Spanish.'

'Yep. They'll be able to talk about me behind my back.'

'You'll have something that's just between you two, too. You know Jessie won't let Meredith brush her hair? It has to be me. Right now, Callie and the baby share something that you can't. But it won't always be that way.'

'Right. Okay. If you say so, Shepherd.'

Honestly, I can't imagine any child choosing to spend time with me over Callie, but Shepherd's intentions are kind and it's quite comforting to know that even the mighty McDreamy had his insecurities over parenthood too.

'You should come to the house one weekend. We just finished the deck but we're going to start putting down flooring soon. It's fun, very therapeutic. There's beer. Maybe even pizza.'

I've been invited to help build the Barbie dream house before but I figured Shepherd was just asking out of politeness. It appears that he actually enjoys my company though. Maybe I will go.

'Just as long as you don't expect me to be cleaning up after you boys.'

'Oh no. There's a baby swing there too, it was Jessie's but she's outgrown it now. She used to like watching me while I worked. Lots of nice hiking trails around there too if you had a jogging stroller. Lots of nice spots to sit and read when the baby falls asleep.'

'Oh. Okay.'

That doesn't sound too horrible. Doesn't sound horrible at all, actually.

I stand up and grab the scotch to put it in my locker.

'Thanks, Shepherd,' I mumble into the locker door as I get my stuff to go home. 'For the gift.' I'm not talking about the scotch.

'Sure.'

When I check my phone there's a text from Sloan saying that he's taken Callie home and everything's okay. Sent two hours ago. Either enough time has passed for her anger to fade or enough time has passed for it to have escalated into rage.

'It's not all bad you know.'

'Oh?'

'There's lots of sex in the second trimester. Look forward to that.'

Cling onto that is more like it.

* * *

By the time Grey drops me home any confidence that I've gained from the alcohol has long since faded. If Sloan's so much as _touched_ the bottle of wine in the fridge that I'm already visualising drinking then I will make him pay.

'Hahn?' Sloan's voice, hushed. I go into the living room and see Callie asleep on the couch and Sloan keeping vigil in the easy chair.

'Is she okay?' I ask, reaching down to touch her cheek.

'She's fine. A little overwrought. I talked her out of seeing Fields.'

'She's been crying,' my fingers trace the tear tracks on her face and then I make myself stop in case I wake her. In the kitchen I found the wine, untouched. Sloan will live to see another day.

'Yeah.' He rolls his eyes. 'That started about five minutes after you left. I told her to go and find you but she started spouting all this crap about not deserving your forgiveness or something. Pregnancy's really bringing out her self-flagellating side isn't it?'

'She cried all afternoon?'

'Um, no,' he gives me that hangdog guilty face of his. 'I managed to convince her that you would forgive her after an appropriate amount of her punishing herself had happened and she calmed down. I brought her back here and she was fine, we were just hanging out, watching TV. Then this movie came on and she wanted to watch it and I swear I had no idea...'

'Sloan, you did not let her watch 'Beaches'.'

'No. It was worse. So much worse.'

'Oh God, not 'Sophie's Choice'?'

'No. It was...it was 'Dumbo', okay?'

''Dumbo?' That Disney movie?'

If Disney's not safe viewing material then we've got real problems. I try and remember the plot, wondering what could have possibly set her off, then something comes back to me- watching it with my Mom and brother when I was a kid and my Mom sobbing when...

'Shit.'

'Yeah. When Dumbo visited his mom in the cage she just lost it. And then, you know when she starts singing and swinging him around by her trunk...it was carnage in here, Hahn. I did try and remind her that there was a high probability of a happy ending but she didn't seem to care. Sorry Hahn, just didn't see it coming.'

'Don't beat yourself up too much, Sloan. Thanks for looking after her. Hey, you want a glass of this?' I ask belatedly, realizing that I'm on my second and he's probably in desperate need of a drink.

'Thanks, but no. Torres is my best friend but there's no way I'm going to be here when she wakes up.'

'Fair enough.'

She wakes up about ten minutes after he leaves.

'Mark?' she says, groggily. 'How long was I asleep?'

'It's me,' I say, keeping my tone deliberately light. Maybe if I don't mention today we can just forget the whole thing. 'Sloan took off. I think your awful taste in movies scared him away. Have you eaten anything except popcorn? Because I'm going to make...'

My voice trails off when I hear shaky breathing and sniffing behind me. Unmistakeable crying sounds. I sigh and turn around. She's standing by the entrance to the kitchen, tears running down her face, arms folded around her middle, looking like she can barely hold herself up.

I see her mouth forming the word 'I'm' and go to her, wrapping my arms tightly around her, before she even has the chance to speak.

'Callie, no. Come on, please don't get upset. It's okay. Everything's okay,' I try and reassure her, rubbing her back.

'I'm so sorry,' she whispers anyway. 'I can't believe I said those things to you. I'm so-'

'Callie, please. Please don't cry over me, I can't stand it. It's okay, it's forgotten. Just please calm down. Will you do that for me?'

'Okay,' she murmurs, to my intense relief and I feel her make an effort to bring her breathing under control. After a few seconds she pulls away, wiping tears from her face. She smiles at me, way more sadly than I'd like, but it's something.

'God, I'm so tired. I feel like a truck hit me.'

'Go and lie back down,' I say in my best authoritative voice. 'Find something _happy_ to watch. I'm going to make you some of that weird relaxation tea that Addison's hippy friend gave us.'

She pulls a face.

'I threw that out months ago. It tasted like tree bark.'

'I thought as much. Okay, so does hot chocolate sound good? And I will make dinner,' I promise, glad to finally have a purpose.

'Oh no, don't do that. Really, don't.'

I sigh, knowing exactly the reason that she doesn't want me cooking and it's nothing to do with her wanting to save me the trouble.

'I'll cook whatever you want, Cal,' I say fixing her with a sardonic stare that makes it clear that I can read her like a book. A picture book.

'Really?' she questions, narrowing her eyes. 'It doesn't have to be whole grain or balanced or-'

'Healthy?' I cut in dryly. Obviously she's forgotten about her little freak out about eating better earlier. Until next time, then. I swear, it's like living with Jekyll and Hyde sometimes.

'A grilled cheese is healthy. Think of the calcium,' she insists stubbornly and it's enough that she's laughing and joking with me, I'd have sprinted to the nearest fast food joint and bought her the biggest, most disgusting burger they had if she'd asked me to.

So I make her the damn grilled cheese and I even eat one myself so she doesn't feel guilty about it. Then I basically force feed her ice cream because I've developed this weird compulsion to make her eat all the time and the more calories she consumes the happier I am. Some days I think I'm actually losing my mind. Luckily I vividly remember many incidents during Grey's pregnancy when I saw Shepherd following her around with cookies and lurking outside the OR she was in holding donuts and candy bars. At the time I sneered at him, now...I sneer at myself but it's impossible to stop. At least I'm not alone.

Just when I think we've put the incident at lunch behind us, just when I'm about to congratulate myself on successfully cheering her up I look down at her and she's crying _again_, silent tears this time which is even worse for some reason.

'Callie? What is it? Tell me what I can do,' I beg her, because God knows I'm at a complete loss here.

'I thought I'd be good at this,' she says finally, in a small, defeated voice. 'I thought I'd love being pregnant and it would be, you know...magical or whatever.'

I always knew that I'd hate being pregnant. I was four when my younger brother was born and some of my first coherent memories revolve around my Mom being pregnant, my older brother was at kindergarten and my Dad was out at work most days so the majority of her complaints got directed at me. They were endless. Sickness. Fatigue. Heart burn. Back ache. Water retention. Headaches. As soon as one horrible side effect disappeared another one arrived to take its place. Then he got big enough to viciously kick her in the ribs all the time which- completely bizarrely to me- made her _happy_. She used to try and make me feel her belly when he was kicking and I'd run away, completely freaked out. Once I managed to make it five blocks to the bank where my Dad worked and he had to walk me halfway home until we met my furious, out of breath mother. She didn't take it too well when my mild mannered Dad suggested that I try out for track when I was old enough, winked at me and then sauntered back to work.

When he was born Dad took my brother and I to the hospital to meet him. I hadn't wanted to go in the first place- Dad had made us a water slide in the backyard and was generous with the popsicles- and when I saw my Mom gazing adoringly at the _intruder_ who had made both of our lives hell for the past nine months I just thought she was a moron. I managed to restrain myself from saying so until she made the mistake of beaming beatifically at me and saying 'this will be you one day, Erica, holding your baby.' I responded to this touching mother daughter moment by yelling that babies were stupid and that she was stupid and I'd rather _die_ than have a baby. One of the doctors who happened to be passing through thought I was hilarious, made me a name badge saying 'Dr. Erica', took me on rounds with him and let me help take the BP and temperature of some indulgent old people. Later, I found out that he'd pulled my Dad aside and said that I was the most 'relentlessly curious' child he'd ever met and that I'd go far in life.

Dad told this story to anyone who would listen at my med school graduation, including, shamefully, Burke and his parents, who found it hilarious.

It's hard for me to take in that anyone- never mind a doctor- could even entertain the idea that pregnancy would be 'magical' when I've been dreading and avoiding it my whole life.

'It's hard, Cal,' I try lamely. 'I mean...miraculous and everything but hard.' That's really the best I can do. It _is _kind of a medical miracle I suppose. 'And you're-'

'A nightmare! I'm a nightmare, Erica.'

'Not a nightmare. Maybe a bad dream.'

'I was awful to you today. It's okay if you're mad, I mean you _should _be mad,' she tells me earnestly, twisting in my embrace so that she's fully facing me. 'You don't have to pretend that everything's okay. I could just go and lie down in the guest room, in fact maybe I should sleep in there tonight. Yeah, that's probably for the best.'

She actually tries to _get up_ and I nearly scream in frustration.

'Callie,' I say firmly, pulling her back to me and speaking slowly in the vain hope that she'll listen to me, 'I am not mad and there is no way that you're going anywhere near the guest room. No way.'

'But-'

'_Callie_. Please stop. I love you. I forgive you. How many times do I have to say it?'

'I didn't mean it,' she says urgently and I obviously might as well be talking to the wall.

'I _know_.'

'It's still not okay that I said it.'

'Cal, I'm pretty sure that all the books say that it's my job to be your punching bag when you feel like crap. I can take it, okay? And frankly, this is going to be the only time that I'll be the likeable one in this relationship so just let me enjoy it.'

She sniffs and wipes her face with her hand.

'What, so I just get a free pass until the baby's born?'

'Well, yes.'

'That doesn't sound fair.'

'It's not fair that you have to be an incubator for nine months.'

'I'm the one who wanted this! The least I can do is be happy about it!'

'You _are_ happy, Cal. Not about the fatigue or the hormones or the caffeine withdrawal but the...baby, you're happy about that. Callie, you sleep with your hand on your stomach and when you wake up and you realize _why_ your hand's on your stomach you get this look on your face, it's like...wonder or something,' I shift uncomfortably, fully aware of how ridiculous I sound but I can't think of a better way of describing it. I leave out the part about me getting a big lump in my throat every time I see her doing it. 'So give yourself a break, okay? I know you're happy, I know you're grateful about having this baby and being their mom. If you were happy about all the horrible side effects I'd think you were insane. Which is what I would be if our positions were reversed, by the way. I'd be in a padded cell.'

She exhales slowly and leans back against me. I feel her squeeze my hand tightly.

'I love you. So much.'

'I love you too. And, uh, well, that privilege extends to anyone who is currently residing in your body,' I say awkwardly, cringing as soon as the stupid words leave my mouth. I'm grateful that the Powers That Be made me a surgical genius and all but sometimes I fervently wish that they could have doled out a little bit of emotional intelligence as well. Just enough to make me pass for normal.

Every day I feel it more- the inexplicable waves of pride and overwhelming protectiveness that wash over me with no warning and threaten to topple me. I can't explain it or rationalize it. I don't _understand _how I can feel helpless and powerful, terrified and hopeful all at the same time, in the same _breath._ So it must be ten times as crazy for her.

'Sometimes I think that everything's too perfect,' she says tentatively. 'I mean, I have everything I ever wanted, I just keep waiting for something to go wrong.'

'There's nothing wrong about this, Cal. It's exactly right.'

When I arrive at work the next morning she's vomiting into a trash can outside the entrance and Sloan's loudly telling anyone who will listen to be careful what they wish for.

* * *

I hated OB rotation. It wasn't quite the exercise in torture that Pediatrics was but I still loathed every minute. To be fair I treated every rotation except surgery as a box checking exercise but I was especially unimpressed with 'the vagina squad', as I constantly hear it referred to by the interns. Every year's set think they're the first one to come up with that nickname. Morons.

There was excessive crying. Babies crying, mothers crying, fathers crying, _doctors _crying for God's sake. Morning noon and night, it never stopped. Even worse was the screaming, it sounded...inhuman. Every woman who stepped out of the elevator was doomed to completely lose all dignity and self-respect. Sharp instruments were put in places they had no business ever being. Bodies got ripped apart. And that was when everything went well. I can still remember the faces of every parent I had to tell that the ultrasound didn't look good or their baby had died before it could even be born.

Not to mention the color scheme. It was like stepping into a candyfloss-esque twilight zone every day. Even the scrubs were pink.

Here's the thing- eight week old fetuses look like blobs. They're half an inch big and weigh one gram. They're negligible blobs. If you look at the 3D models or the close-up diagrams in textbooks they look like alien seahorses with tiny little T-rex arms and webbed fingers. If anything they're creepy. There were days when all I did was look at minuscule pulsating blob after minuscule pulsating blob and wait for the parents to pull themselves together enough to leave the exam room. They'd always gush about how 'beautiful' it was and then want a picture! I could have given the same one to every single person!

Ours looks like all the rest. When the image appears on the screen Callie cries and grabs my hand, murmuring 'oh my God,' like it's the most amazing thing she's ever seen. Fields turns on the sound so we can hear the heartbeat and it makes me smile, because, let's face it, in my line of work it's always nice to hear a strong heartbeat.

I stare at the image and it makes me think of...a star.

I saw this thing on the Discovery Channel a few nights ago about these stars called pulsars. At first you think they're not much to look at. They're just these small blinking things. They seem insignificant. Except there's more to them. They come from bigger stars. Neutron stars. And, sure, they're small but they pack a punch- a teaspoon of one of these stars weighs as much as Mount Everest. They're not just blinking either- they actually spin and rotate thousands of times a minute. You don't know any of that unless they're pointing your way though, until you wait for them to find you.

When they were first discovered scientists thought maybe the signals were from another civilisation and they nicknamed them LGM-1 for 'little green man'. In the end they turned out to be more familiar though, just some known components that had come together to make something new. You can tell time with these things, they're more accurate than atomic clocks!

The narrator compared them to lighthouse beams and it made me think of light sweeping across the water, illuminating the night and making everything safe and found.

I focus on the screen and I see a beacon, drawing me in and pulling me home.

* * *

To everyone who has reviewed or favorited this story- THANK YOU! I appreciate all your comments so much. I hope you enjoyed the update.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: In first chapter

Sorry this took so long, I just started a new job so I've had very little free time!

* * *

November. Twelve weeks in. LGM weighs fourteen grams and has fingernails and hair follicles. Individual fingers and toes. Maybe ovaries. It's starting to look like a human being.

When I wake up it's not quite light outside and Callie's pacing the floor of our bedroom, holding the phone and staring intently at it but not making any move to actually place a call. I take a second to admire how tight my t-shirt is stretched across her chest, the way it clings to her hips and shows off her body, before she notices I'm awake and...

'Oh, hey,' she says, faux cheerfully and before I can protest or even respond, she tosses the phone on the bed and starts grabbing clothes out of her dresser. In about ten seconds flat she's got sweats and a hoody on and I'm fighting to keep the disappointment from showing on my face.

It's not about the sex. What's bothering me is _not _the fact that we haven't made love in weeks. Four weeks.

It's definitely not about that.

It's everything else. How she deliberately hides her body from me and shies away from everything but the most platonic of embraces and sleeps as far away as possible from me because she's 'too hot'. If, by some chance, I've managed to get closer to her in the night, the first thing she does when she wakes up is wriggle away like I'm repulsive or something. Not to mention that she tenses up every time that I try and kiss her or even hug her in case I'm trying to initiate sex.

And, you know what? It's a bit about the sex. I miss it, okay? I feel frustrated and rejected and insecure and all the crap that Callie's magazines spout about this kind of situation. I'm honest enough with myself to admit that it brings back all the bad memories from the very start of our relationship- me wanting her desperately and her just distancing herself more and more from me. Rebounding between me and Sloan until she managed to come to terms with her feelings for me. We got over that, _she_ got over her inner homophobia or whatever it was the therapist called it. But lately, I can't help thinking...has she? In my darker moments I can't help wondering if the reality of having a baby out of a wedlock with a woman is creeping up on her and making her panic. And that makes me panic. Because I'm nothing. Legally, I'm nothing. Sure, we have a bunch of paperwork; the next of kin cards, the apartment, a bank account, but we're not married, we're not even domestic partners. Basically, all the stuff in that fireproof box boils down to a waste of time, I've realized. I thought I didn't care about the formalities but it turns out that I do. I'm starting to care a lot recently, since my stupid brain has regressed to obsessing over whether she's planning to leave me. The ugly truth is that she could check out of our life really easily if she chose to. She could take off tomorrow, I wouldn't be able to do a damn thing and forget about having any rights to see my...

I can't even think about that possibility.

I'm being ridiculous anyway. Because, logically, I know that this little problem has nothing to do with me. She doesn't like the way that she looks, it's painfully obvious, even to someone like me who usually needs a flashing billboard to figure out feelings. It's written all over her face and if that wasn't enough she practically yells it with her body language- she thinks she's fat. I caught her weighing herself yesterday, which, shamefully, was not a completely negative experience for me because she was only wearing underwear- I didn't know we even owned scales- and she looks like she's about to cry every time another pair of pants won't button. She's not obviously pregnant yet so I suppose she's worried people just think that she's putting on weight. Or she's worried that she won't lose the weight. Or she just feels gross and isn't in the mood for sex. The pregnancy forums that I've been lurking on offer a number of explanations.

Really, it's pretty ironic. Because the more her body changes and the more she backs off from me the more I...want to lock her in our bedroom and have my way with her. I mean, I've always been reduced to the mental status of a horny teenage boy when it comes to Callie but this is just...worrying. She's supposed to be a sacred vessel carrying out the miracle of life and all that fluffy hippy stuff, I shouldn't be constantly fantasizing about things involving whipped cream or massage oil or...oh God. Stop. I can't stop though! Not when she's walking around looking like some sort of lush, erotic, fertility goddess and especially not now she's made it clear that she's Off Limits. I'm coveting the unattainable. In a big way.

Honestly, if it was up to me, Callie's daily activities would be limited to:

Back rubs

Bubble baths

Eating

Walking around barefoot with her hands on her stomach, looking gorgeous and glowy. Within the confines of the bedroom of course.

Rubbing lotion all over her naked body. Actually, that would be too tiring. Me rubbing lotion all over her naked body.

Napping

Orgasms

She'd be so much happier, I know it. I'd _see to it_ that she was happy all the time. It'd be like my vocation- to make sure that she was always blissed out and moaning my name and begging me to...there must be some way of making this happen. If I only think hard enough. _What's that, Cal? We've been burgled and they only took your clothes? Every last item of your clothing has been stolen from our apartment? Even your underwear? Oh no. Okay, well, the important thing is not to panic. Just strip off what you're wearing right now, throw it all in the trash, just to be safe, and lie down naked on our bed. I'll be home real soon. Feel free to touch yourself until I get there. I think it's imperative that we make the best of this horrible situation. So, just to recap, get naked, throw away remaining clothes, touch yourself. Be right there. Okay, bye._

Alright, the plan's not perfect, I admit. And my current tactics of repeatedly telling her that she's beautiful and all synonyms of that word don't seem to be making any ground, either. She just says 'mmm' and then grimaces at her reflection in the mirror which makes my heart sink like a stone. Once, on one of those rare occasions when I caught her touching her stomach and looking perfectly content, my heart swelled up in my chest like a balloon and I lost my head a little and started gushing about how radiant she looked. All that got me was a thermometer in my ear because she was worried that I was feverish and delirious.

So, here's my thought cycle at the moment: See Callie. Reflect on fact that pregnancy has turned Callie into some sort of goddess that should be worshiped at all times. Think about sex. Try to get close to Callie. Get rejected. Rue lack of sex and general intimacy with Callie. Have dark thoughts about what Callie rejecting me means. Feel sorry for myself. Feel pissed off with myself that I feel sorry for myself when I should be thinking about Callie. The goddess. Think about sex...

The dark and twisty circle of life, according to Erica Hahn. Somehow I don't think Elton will be composing any songs about it.

All the magazines tell me that the only possible solution is to TALK TO HER ABOUT IT! TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL! Which is crap really, because there's no way I can go whining to Callie, who is surely preoccupied with the trials of growing a human, about how I need to be kissed and touched and allowed to see her naked a certain amount or I start to feel needy and unloved. I mean, come on, it's humiliating enough admitting it to myself without actually speaking it out loud.

And really, everything's fine. Great, in fact. The sickness is mostly gone. She says that she feels good and energized. Fields is happy. Everyone's happy. Happy and friendly and platonic.

I'm being a giant bitch to everyone except her and I don't even care.

'Sorry I woke you up,' she's saying. 'I was just...'

'Pacing?' I offer, a little confused as to why she seems so anxious. 'Cal, it's barely six. Is everything okay? Were you going to call the hospital?' I press, unable to think of anywhere else that she'd need to call at this hour.

'No, no, not the hospital. I'm fine. I just...' she resumes staring at the phone like it's her enemy. 'I thought I should probably call my parents.'

'Oh.' No wonder she looks like she'd rather be jumping into a pit of poisonous snakes. Something tells me that Carlos and Lucia aren't exactly going to jump for joy when they hear that Callie's planning on bringing up their first grandchild with The Evil Lesbian. I've got a hunch that the purchasing of anonymous sperm from the internet part of the whole equation isn't going to be the icing on the cake either.

'Yeah,' she says heavily, still not making any move to pick up the phone and dial the number.

'It's what, a little after nine there?'

'You think it's too early?' she asks a little too eagerly, obviously desperate for any excuse to delay.

'No, it should be fine,' I say cautiously, unsure of what advice I should be giving her. Personally, I think the longer they're kept in the dark the worse it'll be, but, as I'm constantly reminded, I'm nothing to do with Callie's family so it's really up to her.

'I said I'd tell them after the first trimester,' she reminds herself miserably. When we're out of the danger zone, she'd said. Never mind that the whole of Seattle Grace Mercy West found out weeks ago. Never mind that she had no problem telling my family weeks ago, before I even got the chance. I called home to break the good news only for my Mom to tell me that she was already making a blanket and that I wasn't allowed to be annoying for the next nine months because poor Callie already had enough to cope with without me...being me. Maybe you should move out, she said. Just to be safe.

'Right, you did.'

'I could tell them after I have the amnio,' she suggests halfheartedly. 'Then we'd definitely know that everything was okay.'

'You...could.'

Or after the dating ultrasound or in the third trimester. When they're born. Their first birthday. High school graduation. Whenever.

She sighs.

'You think I should do it now?'

'I think that it's just going to get harder the longer you leave it,' I say, honestly. 'But it's up to you.'

'No, you're right. You're right. I should just get it over with,' she says resignedly and sits down on the end of the bed.

When no further effort is made to actually acquire the phone I push back the comforter, grab the handset and go and sit next to her. Gently, I put it in her hand.

'You'll feel better once you've told them, Cal. It won't be hanging over you anymore.'

'Mmm,' is what she says with her mouth and 'bullshit' is what she says with her eyes. Much like when I tell her that she looks beautiful.

'This is going to break Mamá's heart,' she mutters, mostly to herself, but I hear it loud and clear.

'Well, just tell her that the Angel Gabriel delivered the news that you're carrying the son of God and you're about to begin the journey to Bethlehem to give birth. That should get her onside.'

What started as a light hearted remark to break the tension rapidly descends into bitterness and makes the atmosphere even worse. An uncomfortable silence falls between us.

'I wish you wouldn't do that,' she says tightly, eventually.

'What?'

'Ridicule my beliefs.'

'I wasn't,' I start to protest. 'Cal, that wasn't-'

'It makes me feel really stupid. Like you think I believe in...magic or something!'

'That's not-'

'Having faith doesn't make me ignorant or uneducated or-'

'I know, Cal!' I practically yell in desperation. 'I know, okay? And I don't think...it was just a stupid joke that obviously isn't funny. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry.'

She stands up and her unforgiving stare makes it clear that I'm not getting off the hook so easily.

'I want to take the baby to church when it's born. I want them baptized and I want them to come to church with me on Sundays.'

Wonderful. Just wonderful. An ultimatum that I can't win, whichever way I answer.

'Well, I can't stop you,' I settle for, because ain't that the truth.

She makes a incredulous sound.

'That's all you have to say?'

'You're not exactly asking my permission.'

All of a sudden her shoulders slump and all the fight goes out of her.

'I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean it like that. It's just...my parents, they're going to be so disappointed with me, and I can't stand it.'

Not for the first time I thank my lucky stars that these people live on the other side of the country and I rarely have to see them.

'Cal,' I sigh sympathetically and reach out for her. She lets me hold her hand which I'll take at the moment.

'I didn't mean to pick a fight with you.'

'I know. It's okay, forget it.'

'I don't understand why everything's always so hard with them. I haven't done anything wrong.'

'I don't know, Cal.'

There's a pause and I wait for the inevitable...

'They're not bad people. They're not bigots. They think they're doing the best thing for me-'

'Cal,' I cut her off because it just makes me furious when she makes excuses for her parents. Not with her but that's how it'll appear if she keeps trying to justify her parents' emotional blackmail because I'll lose my temper. I know I will. And I don't want to lose my temper with her. What can I say though? It doesn't matter what they think- obviously not true. They'll come around- honestly I think there's more chance of Burke and I making friendship bracelets for each other. I love you- true, but it's not enough to make it okay.

My own coming out was the biggest non event ever. My brother answered my parents' phone and I just blurted it out because I was nervous and let's face it, subtlety is not one of my main strengths. After I'd finished rambling nonsensically I heard Mom asking who it was and my brother said in the most bored voice ever: 'It's Erica, says she's gay...What? No, she just realized apparently...says it's like when she was six years old and she got those damn ugly glasses. What? Okay, I'll tell her. Erica? Mom says you were seven when you got your glasses. She remembers because her friend Jenny had a baby that summer and you were definitely seven...Mom, Erica says that she remembers coming back from the doctors in the blue station wagon so she must have been six because Dad sold it right before her seventh birthday...Mom says you don't always have to be right...wait, Mom says maybe she got confused with her friend Lisa...'

And that was that. The Hahn family motto could be 'don't overreact'. Actually, 'don't react at all'. Callie's family apparently thrive on misery and drama, the more the better. And we're throwing a kid into the middle of all this. I better start saving for the therapy bill now.

She holds my hand tightly in hers when she finally dials and I brace myself for an ugly confrontation.

'Oh hi, Ana.' Ana's the housekeeper. When Callie's mother deigns to call our place she makes Ana speak first in case I pick up the phone. It's pretty considerate really. I've thought about reassuring her that any sight of a 305 area code sends me sprinting in the opposite direction of the phone but that would involve actually speaking to her which we both make it our priority to avoid. Like a twisted kind of team.

I listen to Callie exchange pleasantries with Ana for a minute and then she mumbles something about her mother and father. It's barely audible.

'They aren't?' She sounds like someone who's just been told that their death sentence has been commuted. 'Well, that's a shame. I'll just call them another time then. No, no message. Okay Ana, bye. Take care.'

'They weren't there then?' I can't say that I'm too thrilled, this has been hanging over our heads like the proverbial black cloud for long enough already and it'll be at least another week before she works up the nerve to call them again.

'They left really early. Oh well,' she says happily. 'I'll tell them another time.'

Sure. Another time. She looks at the clock on the nightstand, it's still not even six thirty.

'I'm not on till ten,' she says absent mindedly.

'Come back to bed,' spills out of my mouth before I can stop it. 'To sleep,' I quickly add. _Or for sex. Cuddling. I'll take cuddling right now. Whatever._ 'I mean, you should rest,' _Naked. With me. _'As much as you can. It's very...important. To rest.'

'I'm not that tired. But you go back to sleep. I'll wake you, okay?' And then she kisses me. On the cheek.

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

We're thrown together pretty much straight away when we get to the hospital. A 'thirty nine' year old woman who started having chest pains when she was on the treadmill, fell off it, apparently 'nearly backflipping, man', according to the gym employee, and broke at least one bone in her leg. Her leg's a hot mess, in my professional opinion, and I've got a sneaking suspicion about the cause of the chest pains. One look at Yang and I know she's thinking exactly the same thing.

'So, I'm not going to be able to work out?' she's whining to Callie. God, her voice is annoying.

'I'm afraid not.'

'For how long?'

'It's really hard to say until I get an X-ray. Dr. Samuels is going to take you to radiology and once we know more we can talk about treatment and recovery times. Don't worry,' she says, with a reassuring smile. 'You're in good hands. Samuels, page me when you have the films, please.'

She turns to leave but gym bunny isn't done talking apparently.

'Am I going to need _surgery_?' she squawks.

'Possibly. We'll know more after the X-ray. Try not to worry,' she repeats warmly.

'If I have surgery I'll be off my feet for months! My brother in law had a knee replacement and he hasn't got off the damn couch since last Christmas!'

'Surgery is the last resort,' Callie says, still in that warm, patient voice. I don't know how she does it. 'And you'd be surprised how quickly-'

'The pills don't work as good if I don't work out,' she mutters sullenly.

I knew it.

'Pills?' Yang barks, unsympathetically.

The patient's head swivels between Yang and I, looking for a friendly face. When she doesn't find one she talks to Callie instead.

'Honey, they're incredible. I didn't believe Helen at first- that's my sister- but she said, Donna, you gotta try these things, you'll be a size ten by Christmas. I've already lost fifteen pounds!' It's a struggle of epic proportions not to roll my eyes, I can actually feel them twitching. 'If only I could remember the name for you, gosh, if you lost twenty pounds you'd be stunning! What is it now? M...Meridian...no...Marida...'

'Meridia?' Yang's voice cuts in to the uncomfortable silence that's suddenly descended on the room. Bimbo's apparently oblivious to the fact that she should shut the hell up though.

'That's it! I'm telling you honey, they'll change your life. I'm wearing a backless dress to the Christmas party-'

'So, just to clarify, you're taking weight loss pills prescribed for your sister, without consulting a physician and you don't know what they're called?'

You know, sometimes I almost like Yang.

'Well...yes.'

'Terrific. When's the Christmas party?'

'December seventh.'

'I'm sure you can have someone wheel you around it. If you haven't had a heart attack by then.'

Callie's standing in the doorway looking like she's been punched. That bitch is so lucky her leg's already broken. I see her take a deep breath and then she pastes on a fake smile.

'Okay, well, I'll come and talk to you later.'

She leaves and I basically throw the chart at Yang in disgust. I really don't trust myself to be civil to this woman so I'm better off far far away.

'Page me if you need me, Yang.'

She nods and I take off after Callie. She's at the nurse's station, leaning on the desk, obviously trying to pull herself together.

'Hey,' I say tentatively and gently put my hand on the small of her back. For the record, I never usually do PDAs at work, but what with Shepherd and Grey, Hunt and Yang and whoever else practically mounting each other on a daily basis in semi-public parts of this hospital, I don't think anyone will even notice. 'You okay?'

She turns to face me and I see how hard she's trying not to cry. She tries for a bright tone and fails miserably.

'Uh, yeah! Fine. Well, I mean, I have a...headache. Yeah, a headache. So, I'm just going to lie down for a while I think. Drink some water.'

'Okay. You want the keys to my office?' I ask, digging around in my lab coat for them. 'You can lie down on the couch.'

'Yeah, that would be nice,' she says, closing her hand over mine for a few seconds. 'And, uh, maybe you could come by when you have a minute?'

'Absolutely,' I agree quickly. 'Just give me ten minutes. Five, actually. I'll bring you-'

'Good morning, ladies.'

Callie sighs as Sloan's grinning face looms over us.

'Hi, Mark.'

'You okay, Torres? You look kind of-'

'Headache,' she mutters. 'I'm just going to go and-'

His lascivious smile stretches even wider if possible and I'm filled with dread. I don't know what he's going to say but it's sure as hell going to be inappropriate and offensive.

'You know what's a great natural painkiller?' _Don't say it. Don't say it. _'An orgasm. All the oxytocin and endorphins apparently. Clear that headache right up, Torres. Now, I believe the third floor on call room near the stairs is free, I'll send one of the interns to guard the door. Have a good one, ladies.' He bends down to whisper in my ear as he breezes away. 'You're welcome.'

I turn back to Callie and roll my eyes, expecting her to join in, but she's got some weird, wounded look on her face.

'What did he just say?'

'He didn't speak loudly enough for you?' I ask, smiling uneasily. 'He suggested we have sex in the third floor on call room. He's probably put a video camera in there or something.'

'No, he whispered something in your ear. What was it?'

Great, now she looks pissed off. I have no idea what it is I'm supposed to have done.

'Nothing, Cal. Here, take my keys and-'

'What was it, Erica?'

'He said 'you're welcome', okay? That's all. Now-'

'And what the hell is that meant to mean?'

'I have no idea!'

'I think I do.'

She glares at me accusingly and I struggle to put the pieces together. Unless...no...surely, _surely_ she cannot think that I've been complaining to _Sloan_ about our sex life or lack of one. That is ludicrous and laughable and...exactly what she thinks, I realize. For the love of _God_. My jaw drops in disbelief.

'Callie-'

She shoves my keys back at me and stalks off. Sloan had better hope there aren't any steak knives in this place.

* * *

She avoids me all day which is fine and doesn't add to my ridiculous paranoia about her leaving me at all.

When I hear the knock on my office door in the afternoon I look up so hopefully it's pathetic.

'Hahn? If I open this door are you going to be pointing a flame thrower at me?'

Sloan. Great. I decline to answer, maybe he'll get the message and go away.

His head pokes around the door cautiously and scans the room.

'Can I come in?'

'Do you have to?'

'I'm here to apologize. I brought you stuff, look,' A coffee cup appears near the door handle and then gets swapped out for a gift bag. Interesting.

'Fine. Make it quick.'

He saunters in- drinking the damn coffee -and sprawls himself untidily in the chair opposite my desk.

'What? We like the same coffee. Here,' he says, holding it out to me, but I just stare at him.

'I can assemble the flame thrower pretty fast, Sloan.'

'Suit yourself.'

'You mentioned something about an apology?' I remind him impatiently.

'Right. About this morning. I was trying to help.'

I raise my eyebrows disbelievingly.

'Look Hahn, we all want the same thing here. Everyone in this hospital is dying for you to get laid. So please believe me when I say my intentions were good. I just thought Torres needed a little push in the right direction.'

'Your logical prowess astounds me, Sloan.'

He winces.

'Well. Obviously I called it wrong. Torres is flying around the hospital like the Wicked Witch of the West, spreading misery and rage.'

'Again, thank you so much, Sloan.'

'Why is she so pissed off?'

'She,' and I can't help the laughter that spills out when I tell him, the sheer farcicality...'she thinks that I've been talking to you about our sex life.'

'Ha! I wish! Kind of hypocritical coming from her, anyway.'

I can't help but agree.

'It's uh, it's not you, you know?'

'Excuse me?'

'She doesn't like putting on weight. And she has a lot of crap on her mind- her parents, the amnio. I think it's mostly the weight gain though. Which is kind of sad because she looks really hot. She does!' he says defensively when I narrow my eyes at him. 'I'm not blind!'

'If only.'

'So,' he says sympathetically, leaning towards me confidingly. 'She's not putting out at all, huh?'

'Oh, for God's sakes Sloan, you really are disgusting sometimes, you know? I don't expect her to _put out_, I just miss-'

'The closeness,' he finishes knowingly and I feel my face flush red with embarrassment. I do not have clichéd discussions that belong in tacky romance novels and I definitely do not have them with Mark Sloan.

'It's probably time for you to go now, Sloan.'

'If there's anything that I can do during this difficult time-'

'Get. Out.'

'Yeah, I thought you might say that. That's why I got you this.' He holds out the gift bag, cocky smile firmly reinstated on his face.

I glance inside the bag.

'Batteries? Why have you given me a bag full of batt...Jesus, Sloan,' I scowl at him incredulously when I see what's buried at the bottom of the bag.

'Addie recommended it. It's waterproof apparently. Five different speeds. Please use it. We think the wimpier interns have started self-harming.'

'Out!'

'You know, when someone gives you an awesome gift it's customary to say...fine, I'm going. I'll tell Derek to get you some more scotch. Hang in there, okay?'

What else can I do? And he didn't even apologize.

* * *

Again, a massive thank you to all my followers and reviewers. I'm going to try and reply to you all personally when I have time but I do read your comments and I'm very grateful. The next chapter is very nearly finished and it's mainly the reason that I've put the rating up. In fact, I'm not sure whether it's a bit too...mature for this site? I've heard a lot of stuff's getting removed these days. Does anyone have any suggestions for an alternative place to put this fic in case the worst happens? I was thinking the erica callie page on LJ but if anyone has a better idea I'm all ears.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: In first chapter

Alert! This is definitely M rated! Don't read if it's not your thing. For the rest...enjoy.

* * *

For the record, when you think that your worst nightmare is coming true the first thing you feel is oddly vindicated. Then sick. Panicky. Desperate.

Callie's clothes are all over our bed and half of me can't believe it and the other half feels like it's been waiting for this moment for a long time. She's leaving me. I stare blankly at the mess and feel nausea rise in my throat. She can't do this, she can't give me everything and then just...

The bathroom door opens and there she is, carrying yet more clothes. She doesn't even look upset. I open my mouth to beg or cry or shout or _whatever it takes_ to make her change her mind. Persuade her to stay, I think frantically, if you can't then make sure she only gets as far as Mark or Yang's, that'll buy you some time. She might change her mind. If she gets on a plane to Miami you've lost her forever. Do not let that happen. Shit. _Shit_.

She gets there before me.

'Hey. So, Webber is making me do some stupid prospective fellow tour tomorrow and he wants me to _dress up._' She scowls in disgust. 'None of my damn clothes fit. I think this dress might be okay with some safety pins and a jacket, can you help me tomorrow morning?'

I look at her, then all the clothes, understanding dawns and I've never been so relieved in all my life. She wasn't...She isn't...I struggle to compose myself, I can feel tears threatening and I try and stuff them down. She's looking at me expectantly, apparently oblivious to what I was thinking. Good.

'Yeah, I can help,' I force out eventually.

'Thanks.' She crosses the room and puts her arms around me, resting her head on my shoulder and I swear I'm going to lose it. 'Look, I'm sorry about today. I was being crazy. Again. And I'm sorry about...recently. I spoke to Mark and he said...' Her voice trails off and she breaks the embrace, holding me at arm's length. 'Hey, you're trembling. What's wrong? Are you sick?'

'No, I'm fine.' My shaking voice quickly makes that lie entirely pointless.

'No, you're really not.'

'It's nothing.'

She sighs and reaches up with one hand to touch my cheek.

'You're crying. You never cry. It's definitely something.'

I can't speak. I just can't.

'Okay,' she says soothingly after a few seconds. 'Okay, not right now maybe. That's fine. You want to get changed? I did laundry.' She points to a pile of my clothes, neatly stacked on a chair. 'I'll clear up all my crap if you want to go to sleep. But uh, if you don't, I was going to light the fire? We could sit for a while and talk. If you want. I bought you some wine. The good stuff. Does that sound okay?'

I've never been loved the way Callie loves me. No one's ever treated me like I'm delicate or worthy of concern. No one's ever bothered to try and get me to open up. No one except Callie. It makes me feel strong, the way she loves me, like I can do anything, but also so, so vulnerable. She could break me, this woman. She really could. Now, more than ever.

'Erica?'

'Yeah, that sounds nice,' I manage, raising my hand to wipe away the tears, but she grabs my hand, stopping me.

'You can cry in front of me. It doesn't make you weak. I'm pretty sure I've tried to make you understand this before but I love you and that means you never have to pretend that you're okay if you're not. Okay?'

Be careful what you wish for, I think sardonically, as fresh tears cascade down my face.

'Okay.'

'I'm going to look after you tonight and you're going to let me. Understood?'

'I...I suppose.'

'Good. I'll see you in a few then?'

I nod my assent and she leaves but not before she brings my hand to her mouth and kisses my knuckles. That doesn't really help with the whole not being able to stop crying thing.

By the time I've changed my clothes and splashed cold water on my face I think I've got myself moderately under control, but then I go into the living room and see her waiting for me which quickly ends that delusion. God, this is mortifying.

'You're starting to worry me a little,' she says uneasily as she pulls me down onto the couch beside her. 'Your parents are okay, right? Your brothers? Your little army of nieces and nephews?'

'They're fine. Look Cal-'

'Can I just drop it and pretend that you're not falling apart in front of me? No. Is it work? Malpractice?'

'No. It's...it's really dumb, Cal. Don't worry.'

'It's not dumb if you're this upset! It's...oh my God, it's me, isn't it? I've made you miserable.' She shakes her head tiredly. 'Shit. I'm sorry. I don't blame you.'

'I thought you were packing,' I admit in a very small voice. 'When I came in and saw all your clothes everywhere I thought, just for a few seconds, that you were leaving. I got a little...I'm a little...I'll be fine, okay? I've had a long day and you're not leaving, so-'

'Of course I'm not leaving!' She exclaims, staring at me like I'm crazy. 'Why...why would you even think that?'

'You haven't let me near you for weeks,' I say pathetically. To the floor because I can't look her in the eye. 'Sometimes I think you're having second thoughts about me. That you're...distancing yourself.'

To my astonishment she actually laughs.

'Me! Me having second thoughts about you! What about you, Erica? Pregnancy has turned me into some sort of hormonal monster, my family belong on Jerry Springer, I'm more than a little weird, even on my best days and I've got a history of failed, messy relationships longer than 'War and Peace'. Should I be worried about you leaving me? Because you would, if you had any sense.'

'I'd never leave you,' I say, a little indignantly. 'Especially now.'

'Yeah, especially now. Especially now that we're having a baby, right?' The laughter's gone from her voice and when she looks at me her face is deadly serious. 'Erica, do you actually think that I'd take your child away from you? Do you think I'm capable of hurting you like that?'

There's things that I've tried not to think about ever since she told me that she wanted to have a baby. Things that I can't stop thinking about recently. Ugly truths that fill me with dread.

'Not everyone's going to think of them as 'my child', Cal. I'm not related to them, I'm not their father, I'm just...'

_Nothing. Legally nothing._

'Their _mother_. Their second parent,' she says emphatically. 'You're just as important as me. In my mind you are. That's all that matters.'

'That's easy for you to say, Cal. You think this is about love? You think I could even stop myself loving your child, because I haven't got a chance in hell of doing that. I'm not afraid of loving them. I already...I'm already...the idea of them is enough, okay? And I could care less whose DNA they have and what they look like, it's just...details. I believe you, you know, when you say it's all equal in your heart because it's the same for me. But that's not true for everyone. We have to live in the real world here, Cal. People are going to judge. People are going to say that a kid can only have one mother.'

And who's to say that's the kid's going to want me? What's going to happen in a few years time when they start noticing that all the other little boys and girls have daddies to take them to the park and throw a ball around with them and they've got...me?

'No-one's ever going to think it's okay for you to be separated from them_. _No-one's ever going to say you're not important or question who you are to each other. But they could...with me.I'm not saying that I can't handle it, or it's not worth the risk. It's not about me, I get that. They'll always be my kid to me and if people don't...or they don't think they need another Mom, then I'll be...well, I don't know, whatever, as long as I can stay in their life. But sometimes I worry about it. I mean, I've always been a little paranoid that you'll realize you can do better than me,' I confess, shrugging self-consciously, trying for a light hearted tone but failing completely. 'But now... now I have a reason to be extra paranoid, okay?'

'Erica,' she says sadly. 'I can't change the law. I can't make people accept us. I wish I could, but I can't. I _can_ tell you that I wouldn't even have considered having a baby with you unless I thought I was going to be with you forever. I can promise you that I have no intention of leaving you. Ever. I can assure you that you have _absolutely nothing_ to be paranoid about. And if by 'people who are going to judge' you mean a court of law then I can guarantee that the _only _time we're going to be in one of those about our kid is when you adopt them. Like we discussed. Which will give you the same rights as me. _As their parent. _That's what you're going to be. To me _and_ to the baby _and_ to the law.'

'If I'm allowed.'

'Erica,' she sighs. 'Second parent adoptions are routinely granted in Washington all the time. We did the research, remember?'

'I know, but-'

'We'll call an attorney first thing in the morning. Will it make you feel better, hearing it from them?'

'Look, I believe you Cal, I do. It's just...'

'You have to trust me, Erica. You can't convince yourself I'm going to leave you every time we have a fight or a rough patch, it'll destroy you.'

'I thought I'd end up alone ,' I blurt out. 'I thought that for a long, long time. And I was fine with it. I really was. I loved my job and I thought maybe it was..._better_ that way. People like me were better off by themselves, that's what I thought. Now...I'm not fine with it.'

'Me neither,' she says calmly. 'It's not going to happen.'

'You can't promise that,' I mumble. 'Just because I don't want to be alone anymore, doesn't mean that I shouldn't be.'

The real truth of course, is that Callie's the only one who could ever truly take our child away from me. We'd only ever _be_ in court if she didn't want me seeing them. And she seems as horrified by that idea as I am.

She smiles thoughtfully and trails her hand across my chest.

'You know, this isn't a one way street. We did this together. You've given me everything, you know? A family. A home. A partner. Everything I've ever wanted. But _you_ could take it away. You could take off any time you like and I'd be a single mom, maybe you'd let me have the apartment, maybe you wouldn't.' She shrugs and shakes her head. 'I'd be on my own, anyway. No child support if you didn't feel like it. Maybe you won't like your life with a kid in it, maybe you'll decide it's not for you. You have that choice. I don't.'

Frankly, I'm a little offended. Does she honestly think I could ever treat her that callously?

'That's not fair!'

'No. It's not.'

'I'd never-'

'_I'd _never.'

Ha. She's good.

'Erica,' she says in her best I'm-right-and-I-know-it-voice. 'We love each other too much to hurt each other like that. Trust in that.'

Well. Damned if I can argue with her when she's using underhand techniques like logic and reason.

'You're right,' I finally concede, grudgingly.

'I know,' she sing-songs, grinning smugly.

'Ugh. You're insufferable,' I complain, taking the tissue she hands me and trying my best to clear up the warzone that is my face. If I looked in a mirror right now I'd probably kill myself.

'Am not!' she says indignantly, lying down with her head in my lap. Jesus. She threads her fingers through mine and places our hands on her stomach, smiling up at me. 'We love you, you know? Me and the star.'

Right, touching family moment, not a come on.

'LGM.'

'What?'

'Little Green Man. It's appropriate.'

'Ew. Come on, 'star' is nicer. Way cuter.'

'Whatever you say, Cal.'

'Erica? Do you love us too?'

I'm new at touching family moments, okay?

'I'm pretty sure I just made a lot of embarrassingly dramatic statements and declarations that give you the answer to that question.'

'Is that a yes?'

'Yes, Cal.'

'Good.'

She's still smiling up at me and so help me, I'm thinking about how easy it would be to slide my hands up her shirt, how she'd arch up and moan as I touched her...I have a sickness and I'm pretty sure it's terminal. I don't even care though. Her breasts are...God, her breasts...they're so full and heavy. They're begging to be touched. And she's wriggling around, because she's completely incapable of keeping still, with her head in my goddamn lap!

Sorry kiddo, but you're not yet visible and your Mamá's boobs...are. Very. And I am thankful to you for that.

Okay, something to take my mind off sex, something to take my mind off sex...

'So, I spoke to Mamá before you got home.'

Yep, that'll do nicely.

'Oh?'

She doesn't _seem_ devastated, in fact she sounds totally carefree and nonchalant. Could it be that Mamá actually behaved like a human being and said something nice? 'Congratulations', maybe? Surely not.

'Yeah. I called her this afternoon. Mark said I needed to grow a pair and that it was pathetic for a grown woman to be scared of her own mother.'

Sloan is useful for certain things I've decided. Manual labor. Heavy lifting. Making me feel positively saint like in comparison.

'What did she say?'

'Well, a lot of things,' she says, still in that measured,calm voice. 'We started off with horrified silence, moved onto a little lecture about how I was forcing my innocent child to participate in my sinful lifestyle, let's see...a few minutes on how I should come home immediately and find a nice _man_ to raise my baby with at the church social club and then we finished off by her telling me that she was praying for me.'

I've made countless pacts with myself that I'm just going to rise above the hateful crap that comes out of that woman's mouth but every time I do she just gets a little more spiteful. Anger courses through me on Callie's behalf and I revisit a favorite fantasy of mine which involves me telling her a few home truths of my own. I have to admit, Lucia's pretty good at doling out vicious insults, but she's a rank amateur compared to me.

'I'm sorry, Cal,' I say because that seems to be my default response to any conversation about her parents. It's really all I _can _say.

'I told her that I'm not calling any more. And I'm not going to visit any more either. As soon as they're ready to accept our relationship and treat you as my partner, _as part of our family,_ then they can call and I'll be waiting by the phone. But until then...I'm done.'

Well, I wasn't expecting that.

'Done?'

'I don't want them around the baby,' she says matter of factly. 'Not if they're going to undermine our relationship every opportunity they get. They're...toxic and passive aggressive. I love them but,' she shrugs. 'I'm not putting up with their crap any more. Why should I? Why should _we_?'

Is it good that she's calm? Calm means logical. Rational. Those are good things. Calm could also mean denial or that she hasn't thought this through. It could mean that she's suppressing her feelings and that would just be theft, plain and simple, because refusing to express emotion except in semi-destructive outbursts is _my _thing. Maybe she should be crying or even just a little bit upset. Because this is her family, right? It's an emotional thing, even I know that. Shit, how to deal with this...

'Um...'

'I owe you an apology. A big one.'

This is the absolute worst thing about her parents- and trust me, there's a _long_ list of things to choose from- how they manage to somehow transfer the blame for their behavior onto Callie, therefore absolving themselves of any guilt. They're not stupid, I'll give them that. I can just imagine them in the confessional box at church: 'Gosh Father, I'm _trying_ to think of some sins to confess but I'm just too damn _saintly_. I forgot to polish my halo yesterday?'

'Cal, you are _not_ to blame for-'

'I've let it go on,' she interrupts quietly. 'For years. They treat you like you're nothing and I've let them. I should have stood up for you way before now and I'm sorry.'

I don't answer her immediately. I can't think of the right thing to say- if I say that I forgive her then I'm acknowledging that there's something _to _ forgive which I honestly don't believe. On the other hand I can see she's making a gesture, a pretty big one, which I have no desire to throw back in her face.

'You have nothing to be sorry for,' I settle for eventually, squeezing her hand. 'Cal, look...I don't think very much of your parents,' I admit, sighing. 'But I get that you love them and that doesn't mean that you don't love me or you think less of me. They're your family and-'

'_We're _a family,' she says vehemently. 'You, me and the baby. I'm not letting them belittle that any more. I've let it go on long enough,' she repeats.

'You haven't _let_ them do anything,' I insist. I'm worried now that she thinks that I hold her responsible in some way for her parents' behavior when nothing could be further from the truth. 'It's not a case of you _letting_ them behave the way they do. It's their choice. And besides, I may not speak Spanish but I can tell when you're fighting about me. You stand up for me all the time.'

'Not enough. Not till now.'

This is all wrong- the detached way she's discussing it, the spur of the moment decision to cut them out- everything. Most of all that she appears to be doing it to please me.

'I've never thought that you condone your parents' behavior. Never once,' I try and reassure her. 'I've never blamed you and you shouldn't either.'

She shrugs in a way that promises compliance if not agreement.

'Well, we don't have to worry about them any more.'

'Callie,' I say uneasily. 'I don't want you giving up-'

'I'm not giving up anything! _They're _giving _me _up! They treat you like crap, Erica, and it's time it stopped. They're not going to change so I have to, that's all there is to it.'

I look down at her set, determined face and I just feel sad. Sad that she feels she has to sacrifice such an important part of her life for me. It's not right.

'Don't do it for me,' I blurt out suddenly. 'I can take whatever your parents throw at me. Don't worry about me.'

She raises her eyebrows sceptically and then sits up slowly until we're side by side on the couch.

'Look at me,' she says firmly, pressing the palm of her hand against my cheek when I turn to face her. 'Listen, okay, because I'm only going to say this once and then I don't want to talk about it any more.'

'Alright.'

'Okay. One- no, you can't take it. Trust me, it's obvious that you can't. Two- you shouldn't have to. Three- if I do things for you it's because I love you. I'm allowed to do that. Part of loving you is protecting you and looking out for you and _worrying _about you. You have to let me do that sometimes. I know you would never ask me to do this, I want to- for _us_. So I'm doing it.'

'It's fine if you change your mind,' I say quickly, anxious for her not to rush headlong into a decision that she'll regret later down the line. 'I would understand. Don't ever feel like you can't get in touch with them because I-'

'I know,' she says gently but with a finality in her tone that stops me short. Obviously this discussion's over, for now anyway, and I can't say that I have any inclination to carry it on immediately. We've both been through the proverbial emotional wringer enough for tonight, I think. 'You want that wine now?' she asks, getting up and stretching absentmindedly. Really, her chest is distracting enough these days without her pushing it out. Maybe I should warn her. _Don't stretch in public Cal, it's cruel and unusual punishment for all those poor bastards who can't have you. _

'I'll get it.'

'Um, no you won't,' she warns me, giving me a stern look before she saunters off to the kitchen. 'You're going to sit on that damn couch and do nothing for once in your life because you're _letting me look after you_. Remember?'

'Yes,' I mutter penitently, obediently staying seated. I have a long running problem with doing nothing, I find it virtually impossible. Even more so when someone _tells_ me to do nothing, then it becomes torturous. I turn on the TV and channel surf listlessly, not paying the slightest bit of attention. I wonder how long she wants to 'look after me' for, I can probably tolerate a few hours, any longer than that and I'll spontaneously combust. I'm wondering vaguely if I can conceal a medical journal in Callie's copy of OK! when she comes back with my wine and what looks like juice for her.

'I'm just going to have a tiny sip of this,' she says longingly, taking a quick drink from my glass. Her face turns rapturous. 'Oh my God, that's good,' she sighs, handing it over.

'You can have some if you want. A small glass won't hurt.'

She looks at the wine, obviously tempted, but eventually she grimaces and shakes her head.

'No, I'd feel too guilty. Stupid I know, but...' she shrugs. 'Hey, I love juice. Just as much as I love wine. Just. As. Much. I'm going to go and put my clothes away, I'll probably never fit in them again, anyway.' Before I can protest she leans over and kisses me briefly on the lips, effectively cutting me off. 'Enjoy,' she says, pointing at the wine and then disappears off in the direction of our bedroom.

Apparently we're discussing everything except our recent lack of a sex life then. That's fine. No, really, it is. She's not treating me like her big sister any more which is surely a step in the right direction. And she's 90% convinced me that she's not planning to leave me anytime soon so it's nothing to do with that. Basically, it's not my fault so it's fine. So she doesn't feel like sex right now, it won't kill me to go without for a while. Probably for the best at my age, anyway. I might over exert myself or dislocate something if we carry on the way we were before she got pregnant. It's safer this way. Not to mention I couldn't bear the thought of Callie feeling like she had to...go through the motions or whatever for my sake. I'll just take a nice long shower tomorrow morning, maybe with that _waterproof _thing that Sloan gave me. I mean, why not...

I sip at the wine and do my absolute best to enjoy _doing nothing, _managing to make it through an episode of some generic cop show and becoming mildly absorbed in the plot. When the credits roll I realize an hour's passed and she's still in our bedroom. Surely, she's done putting her stuff away by now? I mean sure, she owns a ridiculous amount of clothing but it's not like she'll be carefully folding it or hanging it up or anything. I'd stake my life on her taking five minutes to stuff whatever fits in various drawers and throwing the rest in the general direction of her closet. It's not like she can wear any of it at the moment. Maybe she's gone to bed? She could be reading or watching some horribly trashy show on her laptop. I turn off the TV and head for our bedroom. I'd rather be in bed with her, even if we'll both be fully clothed. We could talk. About baby stuff even. Names or...strollers or something. I want one of those weird futuristic alien pod looking things that are about six feet tall. Then all the other babies will have to look up to ours. Like the populace looking up at their glorious ruler...

I'm smiling as I walk through the doorway, eager to share my image of our offspring being King or Queen of Infantville, but all words die in my mouth when I see her. Naked. Standing in front of the mirror turning this way and that doubtfully. The way things have been, a part of me thinks I should look away, that she'll be uncomfortable with me seeing her like this, but the much bigger horny teenage boy part shouts it down pretty damn quickly.

'Callie,' I say softly to get her attention, when I can form words again. God, she's stunning. How the hell did the Powers That Be ever decide that I deserved such a beautiful woman?

She turns around slowly to face me, smiling, though I can see the nerves playing over her face. Her hands flutter uncertainly by her sides like she's itching to cover herself.

'Don't,' I say quietly, hearing the borderline begging tone in my voice and not even caring. She's never been embarrassed about being naked in front of me and I love that. Seeing her being so body conscious lately has nearly killed me.

'Okay,' she whispers uncertainly but I can see how hard she has to concentrate to keep her hands at her sides. I want her to be comfortable so badly. She should be flaunting her body, not feeling ashamed of it. 'You're so-' I start but she interrupts.

'Did you drink the wine?'

'Uh, yes,' I say, a little taken aback at her line of questioning.

'All of it?' she persists.

'I had two glasses,' I tell her, unsure whether I'm giving her the answer that she wants.

'Oh,' she says, clearly disappointed. 'So you're not drunk then?'

'No, I am not drunk,' I confirm, now completely confused.

'That's too bad.'

'Is it?' I ask disbelievingly. I'm a miserable drunk and even meaner than usual, I'm reliably informed.

'I thought...' she smiles that nervous smile again. 'I thought if you were drunk you wouldn't notice that you were doing it with a fat chick.'

That's the saddest damn thing I've ever heard. And the most untrue!

'That's how I feel,' she says stubbornly before I can get a word in edgeways. 'It's not that I don't want you, I do, I mean I _really _do,' she admits, blushing a little. 'But I look in the mirror and I just see...a whale. A big fat whale who's going to...crush you or whatever! I've never been skinny, I get that, but now...' she trails off miserably and gestures at her body.

'_Now, _you're-' I start desperately but she cuts me off again.

'What? Beautiful? Gorgeous?' she says mockingly. 'Come on, you have to say that.'

'It's _true_,' I insist, almost hysterically.

'Oh _come on_,' she repeats. 'I mean, look at me. My boobs are-'

'Sinful?' I suggest.

'Ridiculous,' she says, flatly. 'And they're just going to get bigger!'

Well, what the hell does she expect me to say to that? 'How terrible'? 'What a disturbing thought'?

'Am I supposed to be sad about that?' I ask, incredulously.

'Really?' She raises her eyebrows sardonically. 'You have a thing for big boobs?'

'I have a thing for _your _boobs,' I practically yell, then I check myself and lower my voice. 'Trust me, okay, there is _nothing_ ridiculous about them. They're perfect. And will continue to be so.'

She shakes her head amusedly and I can't help but notice she looks a little more at ease with her nudity.

'You _are_ staring at me like a slack jawed idiot, I suppose.'

'Can't I stare at my own...' I want to be able to say _wife_ so badly it hurts. Being able to call Callie my wife has kind of become my ultimate life goal. '...girlfriend?'

'Even if your girlfriend's-'

'Having my baby?' I finish defiantly. 'Yeah. Especially then, actually.'

She considers that for a little while, looking at me intently.

'Your baby?' she says eventually, her voice tentative.

'Yes,' I say clearly. And why not? She's said it enough times. 'You're having my baby' I say, surprised that my voice doesn't stumble over the enormity of those words. No, all I can hear is the absurd pride that's filling me up and spilling out of every pore of my body. 'It makes me want to stare at you. And kiss you. And touch you. And have lots of hot sex.' I shrug. 'There you are.'

She laughs and it's such a happy, carefree sound that I feel a wide smile spread over my own face too. Moments like this with her can make me feel giddy.

'Seriously? You knocked me up and now you're, what, head caveman?'

'Basically,' I admit, completely unashamed. 'Cal,' I confess. 'I can barely control myself around you at the moment. All I can think about is-'

'What?' she questions, still laughing. 'Taking me back to your lair and _claiming_ me?' She makes her voice low and seductive on _claiming_ and even though I know she's mostly making fun of me, it makes my whole body race with anticipation.

'Making love to you. Making you feel good,' I say truthfully and I feel the atmosphere shift suddenly, just like that.

Her eyes widen and she comes to me, looking at me so intensely that it makes me shiver. I reach out to touch her as soon as she's close enough, to run my hands over the swell of her hips, but she holds up a finger in denial. I actually groan with frustration and she smiles teasingly.

'All you can think about, huh?' She asks, slipping her hands under my t-shirt.

'Mmm,' is all I can say as her hands rub over my stomach and then tease higher, brushing the undersides of my breasts . I bite my lip as I feel my nipples harden into tight little buds. She hasn't even touched me properly. _God._

She smirks when she sees how affected I am and peels my t-shirt off. I waste no time in pushing my pants and panties down my legs just in case she's got some crazy idea about making me wait. Usually, she's the impatient one but for once my legendary self-control has deserted me. I want her _now. _Slow can wait for later. I'm a caveman after all, right?

Once we're both naked she steps into my embrace, pressing our bodies together intimately. My hardened nipples rub against hers, making me feel like I'm going to explode from the sensory overload of it, the sheer pleasure of feeling her bare skin against mine. I lower my head to kiss her, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her even closer to me and she lets me but there's still a tiny bit of lingering hesitation in her body language.

I pull back, just a few millimeters, so that our lips are still nearly touching but not quite. I know that she wants this, she wants to let go, like she always does and she's so nearly there. I just need to banish that last bit of doubt that's holding her back.

'Cal?' I brush my lips against hers again, unable to help myself.

'You...you really like the way I look?' She murmurs, nearly inaudibly.

'_Yes.'_

'You want me?'

'Yes!' I rock my hips against hers, completely shameless. 'I want you all the time! Please,' I whimper desperately. 'I want you so much.'

I sense that the last remnants of self-consciousness have melted away a split second before she forcefully pulls my head down and crashes our lips together, kissing me urgently. Her hands tangle in my hair and I feel completely out of control. I don't care. It feels so good, to give myself to her like this, that I don't even try to rein myself in. All available brain space is consumed by the things I want to do to her, fighting with each other for dominance.

My hands drift up her abdomen, almost of their own accord, to gently cup her swollen breasts. They've been sore, I know, so I look at her questioningly, asking permission, holding myself back just a little.

'Yes. Yes,' she breathes in my ear impatiently and I rub my thumbs over her nipples, pulling and tugging them slightly until she's gasping and begging for more, her hips thrusting against me blindly, trying to relieve some of the throbbing ache between her legs.

I bend my head to take one of her nipples in my mouth and she groans, a sound that sends a fresh jolt of arousal screaming through my body. She takes one of my hands and pushes it down between her legs, moving it over her wet sex so that I can feel how turned on she is for me. I lift my head from her breast and watch her face as I touch her, my fingers becoming more and more coated in her arousal as I rub up and down, and I can't help but moan at the sight of her dilated pupils and flushed skin. The pleasure settling all over her body. All for me.

I can feel her legs trembling so I walk her backwards to the bed, kissing her fiercely, until her knees hit the edge of it and she sits down shakily. I know what I want to do now, well what I want to do _first_ and the idea's making my mouth water. My hand's covered in her wetness but it's not enough, not nearly enough. I kneel in front of her and her eyes widen in understanding.

'Oh God,' she moans and lets her legs fall open when I run my hands up and down her thighs. Her scent nearly overwhelms me as I settle myself between her legs, nuzzling her stomach and kissing her inner thighs. I love it. I love everything about doing this, the way she smells, the way she tastes- strong and heady. Pleasuring her this way turns me on so much that I can barely stand it. I raise my eyes to look at her once before I start. She's leaning back on her palms, breathing heavily, eyes closed tightly, her whole body taut with wanting. I close my own eyes, image firmly burned into my mind, and lower my mouth onto her.

She tries to stay still at first but it's not long before she starts rocking her hips against my mouth. One of her hands tangles in my hair, holding my head in place, as I begin to circle her clit with my tongue, taking her higher each time. I've got no intention of drawing it out, I want to feel her climax and know that _I _was the cause. I _need_ to feel it, just as much as I need my own release. As she gets closer to the edge her little moans and gasps get louder and more frequent until finally I can't take it any more and my hand snakes between my legs to touch myself. I'm careful, not to make myself come before her, but still, it feels so good and _brazen_ that I groan against her and as soon as I do that, I know, I _feel_ her look down and I _know_, she knows what I'm doing and it sends both of us into a frenzy.

'Erica! God!' she gasps and her whole body stiffens. My tongue moves over her clitoris firmly, in a pattern that experience tells me will send her tumbling over the edge, and I lose myself in the sensations that I know she's feeling- the pressure spiralling tighter and tighter until it's almost too much to take, until you think you're going to explode. And then...she shudders as she starts to climax, heat washing across her abdomen, her whole body shaking with the sheer relief of it. I keep licking her as I feel the spasms between her legs and she shivers and convulses, wanting to prolong it for as long as possible. It's been so long I feel lightheaded with the pleasure of it. I still my own hand between my legs, it would be easy, _so easy_, to give myself release but something stops me. I want her to do it, I realize.

When she eventually relaxes and lets go of my hair I draw my hand across the back of my mouth and stand up on shaky legs. She looks up at me, that satiated smile that I love spread all over her face, and closes her hand around my wrist, bringing my wet fingers to her mouth. She licks my arousal from my fingers, keeping eye contact the whole time and when she's done I'm on the verge of begging for mercy.

'You know,' she says contemplatively, releasing my wrist, 'I really should get you back for all those times I begged you to hurry up and you made me wait.'

'Uhh...please,' is all I can manage to say in a pleading tone.

She grins wickedly at me.

'You're lucky I'm impatient. Get on the bed.'

I scramble into the middle of the bed, half lying, half sitting against the headboard and am rewarded by the sight of her crawling up the bed towards me. I groan and spread my legs, letting her see how wet I am for her. I don't feel even a flicker of self-consciousness or embarrassment. That's all down to her, she taught me to be open and unrestrained in private with her, to not care how I look, to forget about my insecurities. I'm thrilled that I could do the same for her tonight. After we got back together I'd been a little wary of being free with her, after the disaster of the half- delirious- with- bliss 'leaves' speech, but then one night when we were making love she started whispering in my ear, I still remember the words vividly: 'Erica...Erica, it's only you and me, just let go, I want you to, please, you're going to feel so good...don't worry, don't worry about anything. Don't think. You're so gorgeous, so sexy, you have no idea...' On and on it went until I had the most fantastic release that I had ever experienced, literally the earth-shattering kind that I had previously dismissed as gross exaggeration, and every time after that I made myself completely let go so I could feel it again.

She kneels between my legs, splaying her fingers just above the sparse curls that cover my sex and rubs her hand over my skin until I literally can't wait another second and I mirror her actions earlier, sliding her hand down into my wetness. It feels _incredible_ and I try and tell her that but I soon realize I'm past the point of coherent speech. I think she gets it anyway, given that my whole body's moving into her hand and the sounds I'm making would make me want to die of embarrassment usually, but not now. Her breasts are at a perfect level for my mouth and I can't resist that invitation so I trail my lips all over them, licking around her nipples and then gently sucking. Through the fog in my head I hear her breathing become ragged and she pushes one of my legs flat so she can straddle my thigh. When I feel her gently pushing herself back and forth, using my body like that, I know I won't last much longer. My head rolls back on my shoulders, pushing into the pillow and I move my hips furiously, in time with her fingers, breathing heavily. There's a place in the back of my mind that says I should wait for her, so we can come together, but there's just no way I can control my body any more.

'Watch,' she whispers heavily in my ear. 'Watch what I'm doing to you.'

I force myself to open my eyes and look down. I see her fingers pumping in and out of me, her thumb rubbing my clit and the way she's moving over me. I feel her wetness all over me and then, _finally_, my release crashes through me, making me shake uncontrollably with pleasure. All I can do is gasp and whimper as I ride it out until I eventually slide down into a lying position on the bed, completely boneless. I really hope there's no emergencies coming my way in the immediate future because there's no way I'm walking anywhere for a while.

Callie spoons against me, resting her head on my shoulder and tangling our legs together.

'I'm going to generously allow you some recovery time before round two,' she says lazily, kissing me as soon as I've got my breath back.

'Thanks,' I say weakly.

'You're going to need it. Don't plan on getting any sleep tonight.'

I smile widely.

'Promise?

'Oh yeah.'

'Sounds good to me.'

'Say it again,' she says, holding my palm against her stomach. I squirm a little and blush, feeling a bit embarrassed about how over dramatic I was before.

'Please?' she says softly, knowing full well I can't deny her anything at the moment.

'You're having a baby,' I mutter awkwardly, refusing to make eye contact.

'_Your_ baby,' she corrects me.

'Right. My baby.' And despite myself I can't help returning her beaming smile.

'I wish it was, you know? Yours. Biologically, I mean.'

'I don't.' I say truthfully after a pause. 'It's so easy to...love them, knowing that they come from you.'

We fall into a satisfied silence for a few minutes, I'm just enjoying the feeling of having her back in my arms like this, close as can be, when I feel her mumble something into my shoulder.

'Hmm?'

'Will you still want me when I'm huge? Like so huge I can't see my own feet and you have to use a hoist to get me off the couch?'

I sigh.

'Yes.'

'Really?'

'Yes!'

'Maybe we won't even be able to, I mean how would it even work? It'll be a logistical night-'

'We'll find a way.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. Don't worry, I'll think of something.'

'Okay.'

'Will you still want me when I'm old and everyone's telling you to trade me in for a younger model?' I ask lightly.

'We'll be old together,' she says giggling. 'And yes, of course.'

'I'll be older,' I say seriously. 'Come on, we'll be at the senior center together, I won't want to go but you'll make me, and you'll be able to do yoga still and I'll have to sit in one of those old people chairs, reliving my surgical glory days and playing dominoes with some old deaf guy because of my trick hip.'

'I'm only going to go to yoga to stay flexible for you,' she insists. 'And I'll come right back afterwards so we can eat jello together.'

'You'll find someone who can bend all different types of ways and who still has all their teeth. You're really going to tell this hot young thing that you need to get back to your decrepit old...' I trail off, again wishing so much that I could fill that space with 'wife'.

'Stop!' she says, laughing and swatting me on the arm. 'I won't even do yoga, okay? We'll play bridge and watch soaps. And 'hot young thing'? Are you ready for the senior centre now?'

'This is exactly my point.'

'Shut. Up.' she says, leaning in to kiss me and I happily comply.

'Oh!' she says suddenly, pulling away just as I move to deepen the kiss. I make a soft disappointed sound and she rolls her eyes affectionately at me. 'In a minute, I promise. I just remembered something Mark said. I told him I was going to call Mamá and Papa and, well, that I had plans to seduce you tonight,' she says, smiling bashfully. 'And he said he gave you a gift?'

I feel a mortified flush start to spread all over my body.

'He said you should share it with me but to tell you to go easy with it on me 'in my condition'. Not to go above speed three or something?'

I'm going to kill him. _Murder _him.

'So, what did he give you? Oh, is it in that gift bag you dumped on the floor by your purse? I'll go and get it.'

* * *

Two days later we get woken up by a delivery guy. His whole face is obscured by a giant bouquet of flowers that must have cost hundreds of dollars. I put them in the living room and read the card, completely stumped as to who would send us something so extravagant. _To Calliope and Erica_, it reads. _Congratulations, I was so excited to hear your wonderful news. All my love, Papa._

I stare at it in disbelief.

_Calliope and Erica_.

It's pretty gaudy and over the top but I know an olive branch when I see one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** In first chapter

* * *

Before Callie the closest I ever came to meeting a boyfriend's parents was when I inadvertently ran into Burke's infamous 'Mama' and 'Daddy' at med school graduation. I probably knew him better than any of his insipid girlfriends ever did- we were joined at the hip, however unpleasantly, for four years of med school and then five years of residency. We even lived in the same apartment complex- practically everyone did, it was right across the street from the hospital and just about affordable on the pathetic salary that they paid the residents. The building was so crappy that on the rare occasion that I had a day off and was trying to relax, I could hear Burke playing his damn Eugene Foote tapes or, even worse, murdering some wholesome, inspiring piece of music on his _trumpet_. Jesus. He lived in the apartment upstairs. Not even directly above me so I couldn't even bang on the ceiling.

I could have written a study on him. Of course it helped that the man doesn't have a spontaneous bone in his body. He ate the same lunch every Monday, went for a run at the same stupidly early time every morning and called 'Mama' every Thursday at 6pm. At the nurse's station in front of a crowd of besotted women from every department. It was sickening. You couldn't ask a member of staff about Dr. Burke's whereabouts without being told what a 'good boy' or a 'good son' he was.

Maybe it wouldn't have pissed me off so much if it hadn't been for the ridiculous double standards that I had to tolerate. In fourth year my Dad had to have an emergency appendectomy and I had to call home to check he was okay. I went to the most remote payphone in the entire hospital and talked to him for approximately ninety seconds. Long enough for him to tell me that he wasn't dead or dying. Somehow I was overheard and the other surgical residents taped a sign to my locker saying 'Daddy's little princess.' My attending even sarcastically thanked me for 'tearing myself away from my personal life for five minutes' when I showed up for evening rounds. They called me 'princess' for months. Go figure.

I never liked Callie's old apartment and it wasn't just because of Yang. As soon as I walked inside for the first time it reminded me so forcefully of 'the residents' dorm' that I used to live in that I had to fight against an overwhelming urge to run for the door. It was nicer than my old place, bigger, warmer- completely different really. Except that it _felt_ the same. Namely lonely and empty. I didn't hate my time at Hopkins, it was one of the most exciting, exhilarating periods of my life. It was also the most isolated and challenging. Sometimes I hear the interns and junior residents bitching about the 'surgical shark tank' when they've been passed over for a surgery. It takes all my self-control not to snap that today's residency programs bare more resemblance to Flipper the friendly dolphin. _I_ trained in a shark tank. Sometimes I don't particularly like the person it made me become.

Maybe Burke's changed. Maybe the passing of time has eroded his dullness. I don't think so, though. We were at a conference about a year and half ago and right on the dot of 6.30am he appeared outside his room, tying his damn running shoes. I just about to make some snarky comment about his predictability when I remembered that I was on my way to the pool to do my self-imposed fifty laps before breakfast. At the same time that I used to crawl out of bed to drive to the public pool all those years ago in Baltimore. So we just pretended that we hadn't seen each other and went our separate ways. 'Hahn,' one of my attendings once said to me. 'You and Burke are like some freaky kind of twins. And I'm not sure that either damn one of you is the good one.'

Mama was of the same opinion.

'My Preston says you're evil but you're not,' she announced, having never spoken to me before in her life. She'd somehow cornered me and rooted me to the spot with her ridiculous eyebrows. 'He just can't stand to see all the things he dislikes most about himself staring him in the face day after day. It's maddening, isn't it?'

With that she swept away without waiting for an answer, leaving me stunned into horrified silence. Horrified because I instantly knew that she was right, not that I'd ever admit it to another human being, alive or dead.

Without Callie I'd be exactly like Burke. I'd be boring and sanctimonious and annoying. Well, more of those things anyway. Possibly I'd even spend my free time playing an insanely irritating brass instrument. I need Callie. What I don't need, what the ninth circle of _hell_ doesn't need, are her family. Specifically her parents. I've got nothing against the rest of them, some of them even sound quite amusing. Particularly Uncle Berto. Her parents however...I obsessively avoided any kind of 'meet the parents' situation in all of my previous, short-lived pathetic attempts at 'relationships' but even if I hadn't I suspect that I wouldn't have been prepared for Mamá and Papa. What is it with toxic women being called 'Mama'?

'You gotta invite him,' Sloan's mumbling at me through mouthfuls of burger and I'm completely and utterly lost in the wilderness.

'But he's _her_ father!' I protest. 'It's not my place!'

Sloan looks at me pityingly, as if I'm a particularly stupid child who just can't grasp that crayons are not for eating.

'She can't invite him,' he says patiently, shaking his head at me.

'But _why?' _I practically wail, frustrated beyond belief.

When Callie saw the flowers she actually burst into tears of happiness. She practically sat by the phone for the rest of the day, waiting for it to ring, and when it did and it was Carlos she cried again. She jabbered away for two hours in Spanish to him, smiling so hard that I was surprised that she didn't dislocate her jaw. I was happy for her, I _am_ happy for her. I'm not getting carried away- he only ever calls her from his office, leaving me to deduce that Mamá has no idea what he's doing and wouldn't exactly be crazy about it if she did. He's hardly signed up for ACLU membership. Actually, I find it a little pathetic- a grown man sneaking around and lying to his wife about calling his own _daughter_, the mother of his grandchild. On my less charitable days the words 'Carlos' and 'coward' float around in my head, growing dangerously closer together. But, it's a start. It's something.

I'm not so stupid as not to figure out that the next logical step is to invite him to stay. It would be a gesture on a lot of levels. A symbol. No hard feelings, let's let bygones be bygones and may the water ever flow under the bridge etc. etc. That's not lost on me. I just can't, for the life of me, understand why it has to be _me_ that invites him. It's not _me_ that needs to forgive him after all. It's not _our_ relationship that needs to be rebuilt. As far as I'm concerned if Callie wants him to come she'll ask him. I've made it abundantly clear that I'd be fine with it. That I _encourage _it even.

Apparently Sloan disagrees.

'It has to be you,' he repeats, not answering my question in the slightest. I'd bang my head on the table if I thought it was at all hygienic.

'Look, why do you think she hasn't just invited him herself?' he asks when I shoot him a look of pure loathing.

'Because she doesn't want to?' I try, already knowing that it's the wrong answer but unable to come up with any logical alternative.

He sighs patronisingly.

'You know for someone with a borderline genius intellect you're incredibly dense sometimes, Hahn.'

'Sloan, unless you want that fork in your trachea you'll-'

'Fine, fine' he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. 'Look, if it makes you feel better you're not the only dense one in your relationship, okay? In fact, you and Torres are kind of a dangerously stupid pairing. Sometimes I wonder how you get anything done, stumbling around in the dark the way you two do, bumping into walls and-'

'You know Sloan, I'm pretty good at throwing darts. Probably a knife wouldn't be too much of a stretch.'

'Just don't ruin my pretty face.'

'Don't make me!'

'She feels terrible for the way they treated you,' he says finally. 'Lucifer mostly, but him too. All those times that you had to deal with them treating you like shit. All those dinners you had to sit through knowing that you weren't really welcome. Listening to them bitch about you in Spanish and having to pretend like you didn't understand. Sending her off to Miami every year, knowing that they were going to spend the entire week trying to persuade her to leave you. In her head it all happened because she was too weak to stand up to them.'

To say I feel horrified would be an understatement.

'It doesn't matter-' I start to insist but he cuts me off, cocking his eyebrow in disbelief.

'Don't give me that crap about not caring how they behaved around you. You tried not to, because you love her. But come on, you're a human being, despite what the interns say. You have feelings. Just admit it, it hurt like a bitch.'

I shrug uncomfortably.

'Fine, it wasn't pleasant,' I allow. '_But I don't blame her._ I've _told_ her-'

'You can tell her till you're blue in the face,' he says calmly. 'Torres can be pretty pig headed. Nothing in your league of course, but enough.'

Slowly, things start to fall into place.

'She hasn't asked him...' I start slowly.

'Because she can't,' Sloan finishes smugly, grabbing my soda and slurping it noisily.

'She can't,' I admit miserably, my head falling heavily into my hands.

He pats me on the back.

'Try and get in her head, okay?' he says. 'She's only just managed to work up the courage to tell them to get lost after being a guilty bystander to years of them mentally abusing you.'

My head shoots up to intervene, to sharply tell him to cut the melodramatics, but he holds a hand up to stop me.

'I'm just telling you what she's thinking.'

I glare at him but let him carry on speaking.

'It's hit her like a ton of bricks, how awful it's been for you. What you've put up with for her. She feels like the world's most selfish bitch. You've been looking out for her but she's failed miserably on her end. But she's going to try and put it right, she's going to put you first and show you that you mean as much to her as she does to you. So she cuts them out.'

He pauses, no doubt imagining he's performing to a rapt audience who are hanging on his every word.

'But then, the very next day, these flowers show up. And she's so happy, she can't help it. Because she loves her Dad. But she also loves you. And she gets to thinking; maybe she shouldn't be so happy. She's just acknowledged what a huge bastard this guy's been to you and now she's going to welcome him back into her life because he flashes his platinum card at the florist? And you won't say anything except that it's great but privately you'll wonder if she meant anything she said about standing up to him and Lucifer. You'll believe it was all just a hollow gesture to placate you and her formally forgiving him by inviting him to stay will just prove that she doesn't give a damn about your epic hidden pain caused by her parents, and therefore by her.'

He finishes with a flourish and all I can do is shake my head wearily. It's just too much.

'Sloan, that is such a crock of shit.'

'Is it?' he says, shrugging. When I stare at him incredulously he elaborates. 'Not the blaming herself part, that's crap. Obviously. But the forgiving her father part. It seems pretty unfair that some really expensive flowers just erases years of him believing that you were some kind of depraved sexual deviant dragging his daughter into a fiery doom.'

I say nothing, unwilling to admit that similar thoughts have entered my head before I've resolutely pushed them down.

'I mean, has he made any attempt to talk to you? Apologize?'

'No.'

'Maybe he should suffer for a little while.'

'That would only make Callie suffer,' I point out, tired of the whole situation.

'Well, yeah. There is that.'

Goddamn Sloan playing devil's advocate. Emphasis on the devil.

'I just want her to be happy,' I say eventually. 'This should be the happiest time of her life. She shouldn't have to worry about me or her parents. About anything. She's making life for God's sake! That's all she should have to think about. I don't want her turning this over in her head until it makes her sick.'

'Then call him. Invite him.'

'Fine,' I snap, still not thrilled at the prospect.

'Alright. Well, I'm glad I could guide you along the path to truth and wisdom,' he says, winking at me. 'I'm a guru, remember?'

'Ugh, Sloan. 'God complex' doesn't even begin to define your problems.'

'You love it. I suppose you'd rather choke on your own tongue than thank me for my sage advice?'

'You suppose right.'

'Never mind.' He collects the trash from his lunch and stands up, balancing it all on the tray. I think he's going to leave but just before he does he gives me his serious look again.

'Look, Hahn, don't punch me for saying this but this should be the happiest time of _your_ lives. Both of you. Just remember...sometimes it can be about you.'

'It is,' I say quietly and don't elaborate any more than that.

He smirks at me and nods before turning on his heel and heading for the exit.

* * *

In the end I chicken out and email him, a guilty part of me fervently hoping that he doesn't respond. A _big _guilty part of me. I know you're not supposed to pray for messages you send to go the spam folder, actually I'm pretty sure godless heathens like me aren't supposed to pray _at all_, but that's what I find myself doing. It takes over two hours to compose what turns out to be a four line message. Firstly, there's the dilemma of what to call him. Mr Torres? Carlos? _Papa? _And as soon as I tentatively decide on 'Carlos' I draw a blank on what the first word should be. 'Dear'- too formal. 'Hi'- too casual. 'Hola'- too casually racist. 'Hey'- too try hard. I stare at the blank screen until my head hurts and seriously consider Googling 'form email of invitation for previously homophobic not quite father in law'.

Time ticks by and I force myself to type something, anything. After I read what materialises on the page the devil in me really wants to make the subject header 'read between the lines.'

**Dear Carlos,**

**Callie and I (Callie) would love to have you stay with us for a few days (no longer). Unfortunately we are both working over the holiday season but we have managed to get the weekend of xx-yy off from work in December. My parents will be visiting (you will be outnumbered) and it would be a nice opportunity for you to meet them (...finally) and celebrate Christmas. We (Callie) really hope that you can make it.**

**Erica (satanic destroyer of heterosexuality)**

I hit 'send' before I can change my mind and less than an hour later I receive a gushing reply, the gist of which is: he'd like nothing more in the world than to stay with us, his incredibly busy and important life be damned, nothing's more important than his precious Calliope and he can't wait to see us again.

I show it to Sloan who just laughs at me and shakes his head, muttering 'piece of work' as he walks away.

Over the next few weeks something that resembles a civilised conversation starts building between Carlos and I. Nothing ground breaking. What time his flight will be landing (no, we wouldn't _dream_ of you getting a cab. That's if you're sure you won't catch homosexuality from my car). Where he'll be sleeping (I hope the pull out bed in the study will be okay for you. If not feel free to check into the hotel you used to stay in when our home wasn't good enough for you). You know, just pleasantries. I'm so caught up in how (relatively) well my plan's going and how happy Callie's going to be that it doesn't occur to me to actually _tell_ her until she reminds me by accident.

'So, did you move your afternoon surgery to ten so we can pick your parents up?'

It's about a week before they're due to arrive and we're just about to go to bed. Callie's going through her nightly ritual of rubbing cocoa butter into every inch of her skin in some crazy attempt to avoid stretchmarks and I'm going through my nightly ritual of admiring the view.

'Uh...yes.'

_Just tell her. Just tell her._

'They land at four, right?'

_Tell her_.

'Mmm.'

She looks up, frowning.

'You okay?'

'Your...' I cannot say 'Papa', I just can't. '...father's coming next weekend as well,' I say slowly and deliberately, retreating into my 'doctor to patient' voice. Relay the information as clearly as you can. Be direct. Be honest.

She stares at me.

'What?'

'I invited your father to stay and he said yes...so he's coming,' I finish uncertainly, suddenly not so secure in my brilliance. Was this the wrong thing to do? Sloan will die a long, painful death if I took his advice and it all backfires in my face.

'You...spoke to him?'

In this day and age email counts as speaking, right?

'Yes?' I confirm, tentatively.

When the possibly good/possibly bad stunned silence continues I get jumpy.

'Look, I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing. If I interfered. I just thought it would be nice if they met before the baby was born. And, you know, sometimes you say that you loved it when you were a kid and everyone was together for Christmas. I know it's not really Christmas yet but you want to see your Dad and he wants to see you and we had the weekend off so I just thought, why not? I know it'll be a little cramped but it's only-'

She has to stop my nonsensical rambling by physically waving her hand in front of my face.

'Erica? Hello, Erica? I'm not mad. It's just...' she smiles at me, delightedly. 'He's really coming? And he's staying here, with us?'

'Yeah, his flight gets in at eight,' I say, smiling back cautiously.

She puts down the lotion and basically throws herself into my arms, beaming at me. Oh, the relief.

'So, you're happy?' I ask her, just to make sure.

'_Yes,' _she laughs between kisses. 'Thank you. I love you so much.'

'Cal,' I have to basically hold her at arm's length to get her to stop kissing me and listen which I regret pretty much immediately but I'm resolved. Totally resolved. 'Seriously, if you want some time alone with him-'

'No, this is perfect,' she insists.

'Well, alright. He's welcome here whenever you want though. You don't have to ask. I mean, maybe let me know in advance,' _So I can pull a double shift._ 'But _he's welcome_. You know that, right?'

'Yeah,' she says happily. 'I know. It just means so much that you invited him.'

I blush self-consciously.

'It's nothing. As long as you're happy.'

'It's _not_ nothing. It's the furthest thing from nothing. And you make me so very happy,' she whispers, stroking my cheek.

The look she's giving me, which I can only describe as adoring, makes me feel invincible. Kind of like I'm Elektra having my soul purified by Daredevil. Actually Callie can be Elektra. Mmm, Callie in an Elektra costume...

_Carrying the miracle of life. Highly inappropriate._

I'm just about to return to the adoring kissing when she pulls away slightly- my own fault I suppose, for stopping her before. Karma rocks. Not.

'Wait, do your parents know he's coming?'

She looks a little nervous, rightly assuming that they're not his biggest fans.

'Of course they know,' I say, wrapping my arms around her and trying my best to sound reassuring.

'And they're...okay with it?'

'Okay' would be an overstatement. Publicly okay maybe. We had 'the talk' about her parents before they met her so there wouldn't be any awkward silences. My Mom has an uncanny talent for homing in on what a person wants to talk about least in the world and asking incessant questions about it so we had to have quite an extensive conversation about what not to say. Essentially whenever they talk to her or see her we all just pretend that they don't exist which is sad but easiest. They love Callie and they'd never want to upset her so I'm hoping against hope that everything will be okay. I'm not worried at all about my Dad. His only question about the new plan was 'does he like sports?' Dad would live in his toolshed if it had ESPN.

My Mom however.

She took their rejection of me pretty personally.

'But what's wrong with you?' She'd wanted to know. 'You're educated, you're well-off, you're not unfortunate looking. You've got beautiful hair. Is it your height? That can be off-putting, I suppose.'

I told her it was more to do with the fact that I was a woman.

'That's it? That's the only reason you're not good enough for her?'

I said that it was, as far as I knew.

'I'd like to give those people a piece of my mind. _All_ my friends with sons your age want to know if you're single. You're a catch, you know? You're a _surgeon _for Pete's sake. It was always a complete mystery to me why you weren't married, personality aside, although I suppose we've solved that one now...'

What worries me is the 'give those people a piece of my mind' part. That was a long time ago but God knows, the woman can hold a grudge. And when she found out that I'd invited him to stay all she said was:

'Yes, well, I'll be interested to meet him.'

'Interested' had an ominously sinister ring to it. She did say that she was happy for Callie which should have put my mind at ease but didn't. As soon as I got started in on my 'it's very important that we make this an idyllic family occasion for Callie' speech I got abruptly silenced, however.

'Darling, if you think I'm taking diplomacy lessons from you then you're out of your mind.'

She'll behave. She really does love Callie. She'll probably behave.

'They're excited to meet him.'

She eyes me sceptically but lets it go.

'If you're sure.'

'I am.' A cold feeling suddenly grips me from nowhere. Fear, I think. 'It's not crazy is it, inviting them for the same weekend?'

She grins wickedly.

'Oh, it's totally crazy. Sweet and crazy though. Just remember that when they're here, how sweet you are. And how grateful I was.'

I smile at her.

'I will.'

'I don't think you understand. I want you to remember how _extremely_ grateful I was.' Before I can blink her shirt's off and she's wriggling around in my lap like a damn snake charmer. 'I want you to remember the whole time they're here.'

'Oh!'

* * *

**Okay, so this is kind of a lame update, I know. I wanted to post something to let you guys know that I wasn't abandoning this though. Can't promise when the next part will be up but it is coming! Slowly. Sorry, life is busy...blah blah. Again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed or favorited, trust me I know how crazy life can be so the fact that you've taken the time to comment means a lot. Hope you're still enjoying the story and keeping the Callica love alive! Till next time...**


	6. A Poison Tree

**Disclaimer:** In first chapter

* * *

_I was angry with my friend:  
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.  
I was angry with my foe:  
I told it not, my wrath did grow._

_And I watered it in fears,_  
_Night and morning with my tears;_  
_And I sunned it with smiles,_  
_And with soft deceitful wiles._

_And it grew both day and night,_  
_Till it bore an apple bright._

From 'A Poison Tree' by William Blake

I've never been into physical violence. I can't say that I've ever seen the appeal of punching someone. There's no way that I'd risk damaging my hands for a start and I much prefer systematically destroying someone with some well-chosen words if I feel the need to exact revenge. In my experience the effects last longer than any black eye or broken nose ever could. They can take root in your head, words- the right ones, anyway. They can really blossom.

Before I met Callie I _believed_ in the power of words but after Carlos and Lucia's first excruciating visit I _knew _that I was right. And now? Now, I'm certain. Because I can hear Callie turning her key in the door and every toxic, passive aggressive comment that I ever had the misfortune of overhearing Carlos say about me is on a loop in my head like some stupid summer anthem that you hate but know all the words to anyway.

_Do you think her father was absent when she was growing up? Is that why she hates men?_

_Calliope always was so sympathetic towards emotionally damaged people._

_Do you think she changes in the female locker room? That must be uncomfortable for everyone else._

Honestly, if Lucifer dropped dead tomorrow I'd struggle to feel even a little bit sad but at least I knew where I stood with her. There's a special place reserved on my hit list for people who have the nerve to be pleasant to your face and then stick a knife in you the second you turn your back. It's somehow worse to know that the person who is making small talk with you about the new Tarantino movie secretly thinks that you're some kind of brain damaged pervert who's trapped his daughter in your tangled web of sin.

It's unfortunate really that all these unpleasant recollections and memories about Carlos are being dragged to the front of my mind because he's just stepped over the threshold of our apartment for the very first time behind a beaming Callie. I arrange my face into what I hope is a happy, welcoming expression and bite back the surprisingly venomous resentment that's leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

_I don't want you in my home._

_You're doing this for Callie_, I remind myself sternly. _She forgave him and so can you. It's in the past, forget it. Move forward._

With great effort I feel my distaste at seeing Carlos stroll back into our lives recede to a manageable level. It's not gone though, which is worrying. I hadn't realized how much resentment I harbored towards him, how strong my reaction would be to seeing him again.

Also, he's touching Callie.

Something unexpected happened last week. I was talking to Callie at the nurse's station and she turned to the side and she had a bump. It appeared overnight. I know this because I took Callie to work at 9pm and it wasn't there and the next time I saw her was when I brought her coffee at 9am the next day and it was there. Now, obviously I know that's impossible- I'm a doctor after all, so hopefully more informed about the wondrous process than most- but that's just what happened. I wasn't even really surprised. It's Callie's child after all, turning my world upside down is pretty much going to be it's modus operandi. Of course it's starting young. Anyway, I saw it- the bump- and suddenly my newly acquired possessive-protective-o-meter ratched up a notch from 'dangerously high' to 'critical'. Which is where it's stayed. Later the same day I saw Sloan's hand brush the fabric of her lab coat and I felt...oddly like punching him.

I guess things change.

Punching Carlos probably wouldn't be such a great start to this brave new world of acceptance. Confusing for everyone too, considering that I invited him.

Luckily for him he ceases physical contact with Callie and steps forward to greet me, looking perfectly at ease of course.

'Hello, Erica.'

'Carlos,' I respond as warmly as I can, turning my lips upwards against seemingly impossible odds.

He embraces me with just the right amount of affection and kisses my cheek. Somehow he makes it look completely natural and graceful, despite the fact that I'm about as comfortable as I would be if a serial killer was acting like we were family.

'You and Calliope have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me.'

'My pleasure,' I say with great inner satisfaction, fondly remembering how many times it really _was_ my pleasure for arranging all of this.

'Calliope looks beautiful; she's really starting to show.'

'She does.'

'Eighteen weeks now, right?'

'That's right.'

'Wonderful.'

'Yes. We're very happy.' _Without you._

That lovely exchange over he flawlessly moves on to introducing himself to my parents. I watch him effortlessly charm them, even my notoriously hard to impress mother giggles like a schoolgirl at something he says, and wait to feel happy about it.

Callie wraps her arms around me, dragging me out of my thoughts.

'Hey,' she whispers, kissing my cheek and I feel myself relax just a fraction. 'You okay?'

'I'm great,' I say, squeezing her hand. It's not a lie really- I _will_ be great I promise myself, as soon as I get used to the situation. I just need…time.

My Dad comes over to remind me that dinner should be about ready, strenuously declines Callie's offer of help-practically manhandling her into a chair, and 'steals' me away to help him serve up.

'Wait till you try this, Papa,' I hear Callie saying as I grab plates and glasses. 'Erica's such a great cook.'

She looks so happy, so content. Reveling in the normality of it.

Be great, I remind myself. For two days, be great. Don't let her down.

* * *

Dinner goes relatively well. All in all, I'm not really required to say much. Apparently, Carlos has the same easy ability as Callie to keep a conversation going, not that you'd have known it from the previous social occasions that we've been in attendance at. Still, he falls over himself to compliment everything from the food to the glassware and all that I have to do is accept his generous statements of admiration. It's tolerable. By the time we've progressed to after dinner coffee my skin's just about stopped crawling and I sit back, tuning in and out of the conversation. There are about three generic comments I can use if I'm called upon to speak, really there's no need to pay close attention.

I think Callie's talking about the baby's nursery. Sloan and I are going to paint it soon, some not yet agreed upon neutral color. Callie doesn't want to find out the sex. Yet, anyway. She's not exactly famed for her patience.

'….be a lovely room. You'll want a house though, eventually. This coffee is delicious by the way, Erica. '

_Alright, don't overdo it_, I think with a mental eye roll.

'Thank you, I'm glad you like it.'

'So hard to get a decent cup of coffee these days,' my Dad chimes in with his usual affability.

'Absolutely. Nothing's _simple_ anymore. I went to one of those Starbucks places once and I thought I was in an alternate universe! Place was full of teenagers babbling about cini-whip-extra bubbles-low fat _something_….terrible,' he pronounces to his captive audience. 'Never went back.'

There's a general noise of agreement, even from Callie who's certainly not opposed to a daily grande extra hot caramel macchiato with extra syrup and whip. I raise my eyebrows at her slightly and nudge her foot under the table, smiling playfully at her the tinest bit.

'You can thank your daughter for keeping them in business,' I say to Carlos laughing, surprising even myself by how natural I sound.

She swats me on the arm.

'Hey! That's totally unfair!'

'Mmm, okay. Sure.'

It appears that I'm actually on the verge of enjoying myself. Must be the wine. Plus, it's frighteningly easy to grin like a lovesick idiot at Callie. Just seems to happen a lot.

'So, _anyway_,' Callie says, as we all joyfully share in our humorous moment, 'Some of our friends from the hospital are building their own house, actually. We've been thinking about maybe just doing that.'

'Wow,' my Dad says in admiration. 'That'd be something. I'll bet there's some great land around here for sale. Have you looked at anywhere yet?'

'No Dad, we really just started discussing it,' I say cautiously. I'm not even sure that Callie making an offhand comment about the Dreamhouse looking good and me saying 'yeah' counts as discussion.

'Well, I'd love to take a look once you start viewing. Maybe you could email me some pictures?'

'It sounds like a wonderful opportunity,' my Mom says, mostly to Callie.

'Doesn't it?'

'Just think, you could have everything just the way you wanted it Your perfect home.'

'Right?' Callie agrees excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat.

Well, isn't this plan developing nicely?

'It would take longer,' I interject, to add a bit of reality to the proceedings. 'We'd have to hire a bunch of people. And what do we know about buying land? Or building a house?'

She actually pouts at me.

'We can ask Shepherd.'

'Okay,' I sigh, not wanting to put a downer on things. 'We'll ask him.'

'We can just think about it.'

'Of course.'

She smiles and takes my hand. This is fine. Great, even. See, I can totally do this. I am completely-

'Well, whatever you decide I'll be happy to help when the time comes.'

_Son of a bitch_

Carlos is smiling pleasantly in turn at people around the table and I abruptly stand up to clear the table before I have to look at him. _Happy to help? _Patronising bastard. I'm a world renowned cardiothoracic surgeon for God's sakes, I'm hardly making minimum wage scooping ice cream at Baskin Robbins anymore. I thought that was one of the few things that I had going for me in his eyes, I have my own money. I have no interest in Callie's trust fund at all, I don't even know how much is in it and as far as I'm concerned I want it to stay that way. It's not like I'm living in the Archfield in the style of some pathetic aged rock star on Callie's buck like certain ex-husbands of hers. _Happy to help? _I'd live under a bridge before I took a single cent of his money. _I _will provide for _my _family and if he thinks that-

Okay.

Okay. Calm down. You're overreacting; just get a grip of yourself. Two days. Two. Days.

At the table, Callie's laughing nervously, my not so subtle storming off obviously making her feel uncomfortable. Great, now I've upset her. Way to go.

'You don't have to do that, Papa. Really.'

'Can't a father give his little girl a gift?'

Callie's thirty seven. For the love of G-. Actually, let's not even go there.

'We'll talk about it another time, okay?'

'Well, alright then but-'

'A refill, Carlos?'

I do my best not to look menacing or likely to break the wine bottle over his head but frankly, I'm unsure of how successful I am.

'Thank you very much. This wine is-'

'Exquisite. Yes, you said.'

He blinks at the underlying acidity of my tone and suddenly I feel my Mom's hand on my arm, warning me. I exhale evenly. Control. Control.

'I'll help you clean up,' she says levelly, taking the bottle from me and giving it to my Dad. 'Why don't you all go on and sit down, we'll be there in a few minutes.'

Callie stands uncertainly and goes to pick something up.

'I can-'

'No, darling,' My Mom says smoothly but firmly. 'Erica and I will be just fine. You relax.'

'Well, if you're sure…'

'Why don't you light the fire, Cal?' I suggest, resting my hand briefly on her waist. I'm all about being light and relaxed after all. 'It's a nice night for it.'

She smiles.

'Yeah, that sounds nice. Hey,' she turns me around from where I'm stacking dishes. 'Thank you. Everything was wonderful.'

I touch her cheek and then, because what the hell and it'll surely help my simmering rage issues, I kiss her. Just quickly. And for a second, I really am great.

'Put her down, Erica, and come and help me.'

Two days. Two. days.

* * *

'Are you alright?' Under the background noise of us loading the dishwasher, the music that Callie's put on and the chit chat that's going on in the living room we can talk under our breaths without being overheard.

'I'm fine, Mom.' I say dismissively but I know only too well that I'm not escaping her scrutiny that easily.

'Do you think you might be asking a bit much of yourself here, Erica? Inviting him to stay?'

'_I _asked him, Mom,' I remind her, moving things around with more force than necessary. Am I really that transparent? Have I ruined things already? 'No one made me.'

She lowers her voice a touch more until I can hardly hear her.

'Look Erica, when you told me that Callie had cut her parents out of her life I was _glad_. I didn't want you to have anything to do with those people after the way they treated you. You _and _Callie. I didn't want to come here at first; I didn't want to be in the same building as that man.'

I stare at her, not really sure what I'm supposed to say to that little outburst.

'But then…then your father said that if you were big enough to forgive him and move on then we owed it to you to do the same. So I forgave him.'

'Good for you, Mom,' I whisper bitingly. 'Did you apply for canonization yet?'

She looks at me sceptically.

'Take it out on me if you want but I'm afraid it's glaringly obvious that _you_ haven't forgiven him.'

'I _invited_ him here,' I hiss, completely mortified.

'You can't make yourself forgive him just because you want her to be happy.'

'Are you going to say something helpful at some point?'

She continues cleaning up, completely unruffled by my wounded animal act. I continue to clatter things around, probably making more of a mess.

'Maybe you should ask Callie to take him to a hotel.'

'No.' I say bluntly. 'I'm not going to do that.'

'She'd understand.'

'No.'

'It's too soon, everything's too fresh and-'

'_I said no!'_

She puts her hand gently over mine and slowly unclenches my fingers from the fist I don't even remember making.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I know this must be hard for you.'

I sigh with disappointment in myself.

'I thought I'd forgiven him,' I admit slowly. 'I didn't realize…I want to. I'm trying.'

'I know. And I'm proud of you for that.'

'It's important to Callie- that he's in her life.'

'Of course. They seem very close.'

'Then you know why I have to do this,' I say firmly.

She smiles at me, all omniscient and mother like. I wonder if one day I'll develop such an annoying, all knowing look. Almost definitely.

'You can't force it, you know,' she says smugly. 'Forgiveness has to be given of your own free will.'

'Thanks, Mom,' I say drily. 'I'll be sure and bear that in mind.'

'I think we're about done in here,' she says with satisfaction, gesturing at the clean kitchen. How the hell did that happen? 'Are you ready to play the dutiful daughter in law again?'

'We're not married,' I mutter uncomfortably.

She rolls her eyes in that way of hers that manages to convey equal parts affection and irritation.

'A conversation for another time.'

I can't wait.

'I've got your back by the way,' she adds, as I grab another bottle of wine, hoping that it'll act as a pleasant sedative for everyone, and prepare to re-enter the fray.

I look at her questioningly.

'If I see your halo about to slip I'll help you escape for a few minutes so you can breathe. Like I just did.

I'm pretty sure any halo that I ever possessed was engulfed by burning hellfire a while back but I smile at her anyway, genuinely grateful to have an ally. Maybe I'll get through this weekend without totally wrecking it after all.

'Thanks.'

'It's what mothers do. You'll see.'

* * *

The rest of the evening goes well enough. We manage to rotate the same five non-offensive topics of conversation for a few more hours. Carlos reverts to excessive complimenting and doesn't mention money again. No-one suggests playing any family games, thank God. I'm allowed to continue drinking until I reach the pleasant buzz stage then my Mom wordlessly places a glass of ice water in my hands. All in all, I'd give it a solid C+ in terms of success. Nothing wrong with it. Room to improve.

I'm in the shower, after we've all agreed that we're far too exhausted from the great night we've had to stay up another minute, when I hear a gentle knock on the door. Callie walks in before she's even finished knocking and certainly before I can answer.

'Hey,' she says, leaning against the sink. 'You don't mind do you?'

I smile fondly. 'You're already here. And of course I don't mind.'

I expect her to brush her teeth or start lining up her dazzling array of lotions but instead she just plays with the belt of the robe she's wearing.

'He didn't mean to offend you, when he offered us money for the house.'

So she definitely noticed my little temper tantrum then. Shit. I could kick myself. What is it about that man that pushes my buttons so effectively?

'I know,' I sigh, although I'm not really sure that I _do _know but I can hardly say that to her, can I? 'I'm sorry, I overreacted.'

'It's okay,' she says softly. 'He was just worried that you were upset about it. He wanted me to make sure that you were okay.'

Well, isn't that touching.

'I'm fine, Cal. You know me and social gatherings; sometimes I just need a little time out. Let's just forget about it, okay?'

She nods but stares at the floor, looking decidedly like she hasn't forgotten about it.

'Callie?'

'You know when I told you that my parents' money ruined every meaningful relationship that I've ever had, including my marriage?'

Pretty much the only thing I ever respected about O'Malley was that I never heard him trying to lay the blame for his adultery at the door of the Torres family fortune but I just nod in agreement anyway.

'Well, I couldn't stand it if it ruined this one.'

'I couldn't give a damn about your money, Cal,' I say truthfully. 'I never even think about it. So please don't worry.'

'Then don't be mad when I tell you this?' she says, hesitantly.

'What is it, you're a pauper now?' I ask, jokingly. 'Your father invested all his money in MiniDiscs and now he's broke?'

She smiles weakly.

'He wants to give us a gift. _Not_ because we need the money, just to do something nice.'

'How much?' I ask tightly, trying to keep my voice calm, despite the fact that my whole body has just gone rigid with anger. Not that it matters anyway, I don't want a thing from him.

'Fifty thousand dollars. And, um, a trust fund for the baby.'

Wonderful. I try and think of what to say, letting the water wash over me for a few minutes. She keeps silent, obviously waiting for an outburst. I can't think of a single comforting thing to say. How am I supposed to tell her that the very idea of owing that man _anything_ would taint whatever house we bought with that money and leave a permanent bad taste in my mouth? That I want whatever opportunities my child has in their life to come from mine and Callie's hard work? _Just_ from that? That I'd be happiest if he didn't have any meaningful involvement with my family? That our lives would have been a hell of a lot easier if he just hadn't sent those damn flowers?

I can't say any of it.

'Can we talk about this another time?' I manage finally. 'I'm really tired and we need to think about this, properly. When the circus has left town.'

'Okay,' I hear her say, sounding faintly relieved. I close my eyes to rinse my hair. 'Thanks for not freaking out'. I hear a rustling, like fabric dropping to the floor.

I think I start to say 'sure' but whatever it was dies a swift death when I feel a blast of cold air on my back followed by a very naked Callie wrapping her arms around my waist and kissing my shoulder.

I jump about a foot in the air.

'Callie!' I half-shriek, half-whisper, 'What are you doing?'

Her lips gently brush my neck and she giggles.

'Uh…washing away the stresses of the day?'

'My _parents_ are here!' I protest, 'In the next _room_.'

'It's just us in here,' she counters with undeniable logic. 'No one will know anything.'

She keeps kissing my neck but her hands stay in neutral territory, stroking my stomach, moving over my hips. It feels…so very good.

'Come on,' she whispers teasingly in my ear, 'Like you never snuck anyone into your house when you were in high school.'

I scowl.

'Remember when you saw my high school yearbook and laughed for about forty five minutes?'

'Well, now's your chance to make up for it.'

She turns me around so we're face to face and pulls my body flush against hers, hands on my hips again. The water pounds down on us and I'm vaguely aware of my breathing coming fast and shallow. I can feel her everywhere.

'It's just us,' she repeats steadily. 'And I need you. Just you.'

She kisses me then and as soon as she does I feel myself surrender to whatever she wants. It's deep and sensual and exactly what I need, I realize. We can shut out the world for a few minutes in here, even if it's sleeping next door. I can have what I crave.

We kiss until I'm moaning into her mouth with how good it feels and then she slides her thigh between my legs, putting pressure just where I want it. I stifle a groan and bend my leg slightly so she can do the same. Biting her lip, she straddles me, tentatively moving up and down and I watch her face reflect the pleasure she's feeling. I watch her and I feel her heat and the slight swell of her belly trapped between us and it's the best…the best…I want to do this forever. I don't ever want anyone else to make me feel this way. Not that anyone else could.

Our kisses get more frantic and breathless as everything builds between us. We rock our hips and rub against each other in time, climbing together, and when I slide a hand between her legs she does the same to me. Her fingers ease inside me, her thumb hitting my swollen clit in exactly the right way. It's….delicious and I can't take it for long. My head rolls back on my shoulders, thudding against the tiled wall and it's all I can do to keep quiet. She's panting harshly into my shoulder, both of us hovering on the edge, tense with anticipation. I try and concentrate on her, matching the firm unyielding pressure she's applying to my clit, holding out as long as I can but then I can't…I can't and my hips jerk in release, the need for silence just making the flood of heat that splashes across my abdomen more intense. I fight to keep my hand steady in the middle of my own pleasure and a few seconds later I feel her spasm around me and muffle her sounds into my body.

When I come round my legs are shaking with effort but I feel calm. Sated. Like I can sleep easily.

She grins up at me.

'Same time tomorrow?'

* * *

Saturday is made considerably more bearable by the fact that I've been promised hot illicit sex at the end of it. It means that whenever I get bored or my head starts to spin from the pressure of being social for a long period of time I can just take a pleasant little vacation to fantasy land. My Mom's as good as her word too and makes excuses to remove me from the group at various intervals for a time out. Much like she'd let me go and hide in my room with a book during family visits as a child. Everyone thought I had some kind of social anxiety disorder for a while, most of my relatives being of the 'louder is better' school of thought. I didn't care at all, I thought they were weird too.

Callie's planned some non-demanding touristy things for us to do- we go to the aquarium and the Space Needle and then to the theater in the evening. It all goes fine, I enjoy that Callie's enjoying herself and my parents seem happy. Even better, when we get back it's late enough that everyone just goes to bed, meaning that thirty minutes after we walk in the door I'm sitting naked on the bench at the end of our bed, Callie in my lap, sending me spiraling into rapture.

I'm awake early on Sunday morning- a little after six- and I can't get back to sleep. Careful not to wake Callie, I creep out of bed and I'm showered and dressed in time to see it slowly get light outside. I go over the day's plans in my head- Pike Place, maybe the Art Museum, a late lunch and then Callie's taking Carlos to the airport to catch his 6pm flight. I feel almost giddy at the prospect. I'll drive my parents to Sea-Tac a little later and then tonight Callie and I can make love anywhere in this apartment. Loudly. For as long as we want. My gaze falls on the spot right in front of the fireplace. Yeah, definitely there.

'Good morning.'

I feel my face blush bright red as Carlos smiles tentatively at me. Where the hell did he come from? How long has he been standing there? I wonder if he'd try and throw me against a wall if he knew about the decidedly impure thoughts I was having about his 'little girl'.

'Morning.' I reply, willing myself not to look guilty.

We look at each other, a little unsure of how to behave. We haven't been alone with each other…ever, I realize, and I have no idea what to say.

'You're an early riser too? Calliope must drive you crazy. I remember trying to wake her up for school…like trying to wake the dead. Unless…she's changed?' He trails off, feebly.

I smile awkwardly.

'No, she hasn't changed. But I don't mind.'

'Good. That's good.'

Silence falls between us, stretching uncomfortably. I've never been good at small talk, especially with someone who I have such an unpleasant history with and apparently my hunch that I do not have a single thing in common with this man was correct.

_Escape, escape. Jump out of the window if you have to._

I spy my purse on the kitchen counter and finally an idea of how to get out of this situation presents itself.

'I was just going out…to buy breakfast. There's a bakery on the corner, Callie- she likes the pastries. So, um I'll be back,' _not a second before I'm sure another person will be awake, _'in a few minutes. There's uh…there's coffee and juice, I'm sure Callie showed you where everything was.'

There's also an array of breakfast foods but this is my only shot of breaking free.

'So, um…goodbye,' I finish, not at all pathetically and make a lunge for my purse. I'll knock something over in the hall on my way out so that my parents definitely wake up.

'Do you mind if I come with you? I was hoping that we could talk, just the two of us, and I don't know if we'll get another opportunity.'

You've got to be kidding. I'd give him everything I owned to _ensure_ no other opportunities.

_Quick, an excuse. It's a dangerous journey. I'm really going to meet my mistress. The bakery's so small that only one person can fit at a time._

_I secretly despise you._

'That's….fine.'

_Shit._

I can actually feel sweat breaking out on my forehead. Next time I swear I'll make myself go back to sleep. I'll bang my head against the headboard until I knock myself out if necessary.

We walk to the bakery in total silence, I can't talk and frantically speculate about what he could possibly want to discuss with me at the same time. It's already pretty crowded, mostly with parents who appear to be simultaneously manic and sleepwalking. Usually a sight like that would throw me into a dead panic but I've got bigger problems at the moment.

Carlos clears his throat and gestures to the small seating area in the corner.

'Can I buy you a cup of coffee?'

Well, if all else fails I can always throw it at him.

'Okay. Thanks.'

A few minutes later he slides a cup in front of me. I'm prepared to have to choke down whatever it is because I didn't have the presence of mind to tell him what coffee I like but when I take a sip I feel my eyebrows rise in surprise.

'I hope I remembered correctly?' he asks, making eye contact with me.

'It's perfect. Thank you.'

He smiles, looking overly pleased with himself. Oh Carlos, you clearly don't know me at all if you think you can win me over so easily.

'You and I, we take our coffee the same way.'

Fascinating.

'Oh.'

Silence again. And it was all going so well.

'Look, Erica,' he says eventually. 'You seem like the kind of person who appreciates honesty so I'll be direct. I know you must be very angry with me and you have every right to be.'

Well, that was unexpected. To hell with it, let's hope he appreciates honesty too.

'Yes.' I admit, finally. 'I'm happy for Callie that you seem to have accepted our relationship and that you're back in her life but you and your wife….did not treat me kindly. For a number of years. And I am having difficulty just forgetting that.'

It feels kind of good, to say it to his face. It's a relief anyway, to be able to stop pretending.

He nods somberly.

'And yet you allow me to stay in your home. Despite how you feel.'

'For Callie. You're her family. She needs you.'

He looks at me and I know that I've finally gained his respect. Too bad that he eroded away any that I might have had for him a long time ago.

'That tells me that you love Calliope very much.'

'I could have told you that years ago.'

He smiles ruefully.

'Fair enough.'

'What made you change your mind?' I blurt out unexpectedly. 'Was it just the baby? Are you just trying to get on Callie's good side so you can persuade her to leave me?'

'It was a few things,' he says slowly, after a pause. 'Partly the baby of course, Calliope made it very clear to Lucia and I that she would choose her family with you over us and I didn't want to completely lose my daughter and grandchild. But I also got to thinking about you…and I realized that if you were a man then you'd be everything I ever wanted for Calliope. I don't know you very well and that's my fault, but I know that you allowed yourself to be humiliated and made to feel like you weren't good enough for Callie's sake. I know that you put her happiness above your own feelings. I know you'd do anything to protect her. I know you'll look after her for the rest of your life. And it was time to stop letting my out dated beliefs prevent me from acknowledging the truth of that.'

I open and close my mouth like an idiot, trying to find the appropriate words. How long have I waited to hear this? For him to tell me that I can love Callie just as well as any man can?

'I want you to know how sorry I am,' he continues, saving me from having to speak. 'I know that apologizing can't repair what I did or how I belittled how your feelings for Calliope. I know that I've got a lot to make up for. But I would like the chance to earn your forgiveness and, one day, your trust. You've proved many times over that you're a bigger person than me, and if you could, I'd like you to prove that again and give me that chance.'

He clears his throat and falls silent. I was wrong earlier. We've got three things in common- we love Callie, we take our coffee the same, and we're both proud to the point of idiocy. It took a lot for him to say that.

'I want to marry Callie,' I tell him quietly before I can respond to what he said. 'I want to spend the rest of my life with her and I would like your blessing to do that. I'm not asking for your permission,' I clarify quickly, just in case there's any misunderstanding, 'but I would like for you to accept and be happy about me being with her permanently and not just until she gets swept off her feet by the real, male, love of her life. Can you do that?'

He smiles, genuinely.

'Of course. I'd be proud to call you my daughter in law.'

'Alright then. You got your chance.'

* * *

I could almost explode with glee when I get home from the airport and I'm that it's only Callie, wine and, very hopefully, celebratory sex waiting for me.

'Hey,' she calls from the living room. 'Your parents' flight just took off, I checked on the internet.'

'That's good,' I say distractedly, rushing to get my coat and shoes off. I see shadows which means…yes, firelight and as I get further into the room it just keeps revealing things that make me very happy. Blankets and pillows on the floor. Candles. Wine. Massage oils! And…

'Are you drinking milk? From a wine glass?'

She doesn't answer me so I go closer to investigate. She's sitting on the floor, back resting against the sofa. _Please be naked,_ I pray fervently as my hand goes to the top button of my shirt.

She's not naked but close enough for me not to be too disappointed. I do like having something to take off. She smiles up at me, hands on her stomach.

'I think I feel the baby moving.'

I sit on the floor next to her. She looks beautiful and radiant and…she chose me. She chose me to make her family with. She thinks I'm good enough to have this life with her and I can be, I can be good enough if I'm with her.

I can feel emotion bubbling inside me from nowhere and I slip my hand inside her robe, resting it on her stomach.

'Is it the first time?'

'I thought I felt something this morning but I wasn't sure and I wanted to wait until we were alone.'

I let her move my hand around her stomach, masterfully using the opportunity to get her robe completely untied so I can get both my hands on her.

'Can you feel it?' She asks excitedly.

I can't feel a thing except inexplicable _joy_ threatening to burst out of my pores. I don't know what to do with it, to be honest I had no idea I was _capable_ of this level of happiness. Frankly, it's frightening.

'I love you,' I say genuinely and suddenly words start spilling out of my mouth. I kiss her to shut myself up but somehow I can't stop talking either so I just kind of talk around the kisses. 'I love you so much and Callie…whatever you want…I'm…I'm going to give it to you…if…if…you want the baby baptized…or…you want to take your father's money…I don't care…nothing's important…except…except you…and…and…our family. I'll…I'll…give you everything,' I finish frantically and she looks at me fondly but with a touch of concern.

'I think prolonged exposure to people has made you a little crazy,' she says thoughtfully, pretending to feel my forehead.

'Maybe,' I concede. 'I feel…strange.'

'Mmm, I don't think your body was designed to be…bubbly. You probably shorted out your system.'

'Definitely possible,' I whisper, nuzzling her neck.

'Well, what do you think the cure is?'

'I'm just going to have to work it off somehow. Take that off and we'll get started. You'll probably want to drink your milk, it could take a while.'

* * *

**So I finally found the time to update this. I hope it was worth the wait and people are still interested in the magic that is Callica. I promise to try and post the next part before seven months has passed...**

**To all of you lovely people who reviewed or favorited- you're the best. It really makes my day everytime I see that someone has taken the time to comment on my little story. Thank you, thank you, thank you.**

**Till next time!**


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